Perspectives: Flexible?

Why is the tree bent over? Did it fall? Did it stretch? Was it flexible enough for what it needed to do? Or was it brittle and unbending?

When has God last changed your mind?

Changing our Minds

In worship last Sunday, Terry asked us what God had changed our mind about.  The sermon was based on John 3:1-17. - Nicodemus meets with Jesus at night to ask questions.  Terry's assumption had always been that Nicodemus' mind had been changed by the conversation, but a source she read in preparation for the sermon suggested that we don't know that for certain.

Nicodemus goes to prepare Jesus' body after the crucifixion with many spices and plans.  The writer of the source said that if Nicodemus' mind had been changed by his conversation with Jesus, maybe he wouldn't have taken the spices to the tomb.

Interesting thought.

But what interested me more was the idea and possibilities of allowing God to change our minds. We talk often about God changing our hearts, but do we ever open our minds enough to allow God to change them?  

Or are out minds made up, no matter what - even concerning matters of faith.  It seems to me that allow God to change our minds about those things is often the hardest - and yet God would be the authority, right?

When has God last changed your mind?

Doing Bad vs. Being Bad

This afternoon I was reading in Eugene Peterson's Psalms: Prayers of the Heart.  The Chapter centers around Psalm 51, which is attributed to David following his actions with Bathsheba.

Peterson writes this:

Our experience of sin does not consist in doing some bad things but in being bad. it is a fundamental condition of our existence, not a temporary lapse into error. Praying our sin isn't resolving not to sin anymore; it is discovering what God has resolved to do with us as sinners.

What are your thoughts?

1. We often thing that granting someone forgiveness hinges on their commitment to not hurt us again. If our prayers to God do not hinge on such a condition - and if what Peterson says is true, then this is the case - then why should we only grant forgiveness to people who resolve to not sin again? Is it possible to promise to not sin again?
2. Doesn't grace gain a bigger meaning if what Peterson says is true? God isn't granting us pardon for what we have done - God is working within us to change us.
3. And is this what sanctifying grace means? 

Transforming the World

I heard many people at annual conference talk about how the influence of culture is changing our faith. They cautioned us to not be influenced by the culture - even as it changes, we should not.

It occurred to me that we are awfully afraid of change. Why is that? Why do we look at the culture and assume that all of the change is wrong? That we should avoid it?

As I was sitting in the annual conference sessions I wondered if we could ever be open-minded enough to consider the idea that some of the changes in culture are the work of God as God transforms the world? Or are we so afraid of change that we would never consider that?

I think sometimes change is God at work. Consider the leaps that women's rights have made over the last century. Those who read the Bible  then (and some people even now) would read it and say that it was the will of God that women shouldn't preach, shouldn't speak in church or teach men, that they should submit their lives - their will, their property, their dreams and hopes to the men in their lives. There are those who would have told you then that that kind of attitude was biblical and the will of God. 

And yet, now, I hope, we know better. We know it isn't the will of God that women should be thought of as less than men. It isn't God's will that when God calls a woman to preach, those around her should stop her because she is a woman. It's a change that probably came to the culture before it came to the church, and we finally realized (most of us) that the oppression of women wasn't and isn't the will of God. God transformed the world - and then the church caught up.

Don't be afraid to examine culture and look for where God is at work, revealing himself.

(Note about image: This is me at the podium presenting during the business session).

First Day of School

I was driving to work a few weeks ago, and I noticed a child standing on the side of the road. He was probably 9 or 10, maybe younger. His mother (I assume she was his mother) was standing with him. He was wearing clothes that looked new, and he had a backpack that looked like it still smelled like Target on his back. I think they were waiting for the bus to come down the road.

It was the first day of school for the year.

There are places in our state that have year-round school, and it has been discussed as an option on our county. I'm not here to talk about whether it is a good idea or not. I'm sure there are many pros and cons. That morning, though, was a demonstration of one of the pros. Here was this young man, and he was getting a fresh start. Everything that day would be new. New classroom, new teacher, new books, new schedule. Whatever he had done the previous year - whatever grades he had earned - whatever he had done that had resulted in disciplinary action, if anything, was erased. He was starting fresh.

There is grace in that, don't you think? Do we ever allow someone to have a fresh start? Do we forgive enough to prevent the past from influencing how we treat someone? Don't get me wrong - I think actions should have consequences. I'm not talking about allowing the one who abuses a spouse to continue to do so, or the person who embezzled to continue to work in the same company. But there are times when we could allow forgiveness to recreate the relationship we share with someone.

Do we ever give anyone a fresh start, like it's the first day of school?

Transformation in Transfiguration

Have you read the Transfiguration story in Mark 1:2-9?  Probably.  Go read it again, but this time, place yourself in Peter's sandals.  Can you imagine his reaction to what he saw?  No wonder he wanted to build a place to stay forever.  

I think that often, when we read this passage, or when it is preached, we focus on Jesus' taking them back down the mountain, to service. Vitally important, no doubt.

But give yourself permission to sit for just a moment in Peter's awe.  Do we allow ourselves to do that?  The light of transfiguration can be a transformational light for us.  To just allow ourselves to feel that awe and reverence, to recognize once again that God is God, and Jesus is Jesus, is to allow God to strengthen our faith.  Give yourself that gift.  Take just a moment before you head down the hill into service, and stand in awe of God.

It's interesting that Jesus doesn't request or seem to expect any particular kind of response from Peter, James and John.  He just takes them so that they can witness what happens.  Just see it.

God offers us the same gift.

Too Hard to Believe

Adam Hamilton wrote in his book 24 Hours that Changed the World, that Easter is both the most powerful and most challenging Sunday on which to preach each year.  I thought that was an interesting statement.  He says it is "challenging precisely because the events we celebrate are difficult to believe."  Think about that for a moment.

For those of us who grew up in the faith, it is easier to accept that Christ was raised from the dead.  It's an amazing thought, but we grew up believing it. Dare I say we take it for granted?  If not that, then at least we don't have to convince ourselves of it - we already believe.  The mission of Adam Hamilton's church is to reach the unchurched.  Imagine for a moment that you never believed any of of it.  I think it would be a challenge to convince you of the truth.

Hamilton goes on to say that scholars sometimes try to explain it away.  They use explanations such as: he wasn't really dead, or the tomb wasn't really empty.

I don't think we routinely do that, but I do wonder if we do something that is related.  Are we so entrenched in the faith that we forget what it means? When the disciples saw that Christ has risen, and when they encountered him after the resurrection, their lives were changed.  Before, even though they knew what was going to happen, I don't think they really believed it.  Even though Christ was with them, alive, before his death, it was after his death that their faith was solidified.  Before, they had deserted Christ; now they stood up for their faith, most of them to the point of their own deaths.

Do we allow the resurrection to transform us?  Is it easier for us to recite the Apostles' Creed than it is to live a life as if we believe what we say we believe?

Transformation

Walmart flowers on my desk. 
They are sprayed red, and I think that is so strange.

He went into all the region around the Jordon, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Luke 3:3

According to the devotional I read today, John proclaimed the repentance for the forgiveness of sins as a means of preparing the way for the Lord.

And why would we prepare the way for the Lord?  So that the world can be changed?  So that we can fulfill God's mission?  Yes, to all of those.  God will and does transform the world.

It is, in fact, the mission of the United Methodist Church -- to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. 

When you read that, does it sound like something that we need to do for someone else?  Make someone a disciple?  Change the world?  Is there anything in that mission about the need for us to seek forgiveness?

What does one have to do with the other?

Could it be that the transformation of the world begins with you and me?  Could it be (and I think it is) that God's goal is to transform the world through us?  Through each of us?  And that for that to happen, we first need to repent so that we ourselves can be transformed?

I think repentance and forgiveness is a way God removes the barriers that come between God and each of us, and between each of us and each other.

Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

Remnant

What is a remnant?  The Sunday school lesson I'm working on for tomorrow is called "God Preserves a Remnant."  Think about a remnants table at a fabric store.  It’s full of bits and pieces of fabric – odd yardage, leftovers from what someone else wanted.  Usually they are on sale, because no one really wants the leftovers.

Until the time comes when someone comes along and chooses the remnant.  I don’t want to take this analogy too far, but it’s kind of a restoration.  In the buyer’s imagination, what has been found to be useless to one person is restored to usefulness and acceptability by the imagination of someone else.

God specializes in remnants.  None of us are the perfect piece of fabric, with the exact pattern, ready to be use in perfect condition for God’s plan.  But in us he sees potential.  He sees how he can re-create us from what we were to what we can become.

And because of that, we are called to a ministry of remnants, too.  We are called to forgiveness and reconciliation, because we have been forgiven and re-created by God.

What's the danger?

The mission of the United Methodist Church is to make disciples for Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.  I believe it is only when we understand and adopt that mission that we will function as the church we were created to be.  What often occurs, though, is that we hope to attract members so that our local church will survive.  We need more members in order to continue to exist.

There is a huge difference between those two goals. 

We are warned (rightly) that to adopt the second purpose will result in failure.  And yet, when we hear the status of the church, we are warned that unless we evangelize, our churches will die.

It seems to me that that is a conflicting message. 

What is really the danger of a failure to fulfill our purpose as a church?  Could the real danger be that our neighbor, who we are called to love, will continue to live an untransformed life, missing out on the grace and mercy offered by Christ?  Will God's purposes be thrwarted because we fail to be a church?

Could be.  Or it could be that God will find another way.

And yet, we, if we do not reach out to others, may face another danger.  The tranformation offered by God through service to him will not be achieved for ourselves.  We are transformed through following Christ.

So, the danger we should be aware of is not the loss of our local churches.  If the church is not fulfilling its purpose, it probaby shouldn't exist anyway.  If we fail to bring others to Christ, it could be that God will find another way to accomplish his plan.  It could be that the real danger of our failure to follow God's command to become fishers of people is that we will remain as we are -- unchanged.  It coud be that rather than fighting for our local churches, we are fighting for our own transformations.

Incarnation

Post #1,997 (just in case you've been counting).

I was reading blogs this evening and ran across one I have never seen before called Barefoot and Laughing.  The author's latest post is called Incarnation.

Kirsten, the author, was diagnosed with melanoma during seminary.  In this post, she talks about resurrection -- how when she has a good medical report, she feels resurrected.  At this point, on Christmas Day, however, she writes about incarnation.

Incarnation -- the embodiment of God in some earthly form. 

I most often think -- in fact, I think I have only considered incarnation to be the birth of Christ in human form.  Jesus, completely human and completely divine.

Her blog post considers something different.  God in us.  God, as Holy Spirit, inhabits us.  Different, of course, from the birth of Christ.  Still, though, God is with us, among us, in us, part of us, dwelling in us.  We are Holy Ground.  And that Ground may be muddy and not very beautiful.  We have parts of ourselves we are willing to share with anyone, and parts of ourselves that we would rather hide, not sharing.  There are parts of ourselves that are presentable, beautiful, lovable.  And then there are parts of ourselves that are ugly, sinful, and worthy only of disdain.  God dwells in all places.  He lives among us, in the beautiful and the ugly.  He inhabits both the lovable and the places of scorn. 

Because we have been rescued by a loving God, we have been re-created.  We have been transformed.  Even the parts of ourselves that we would never claim are claimed by God.  Inhabited by God.  What was ugly is made beautiful by God's presence.  What we hate about ourselves is made lovable by the love of God. 

Every corner, even the most dark, is inhabited by God.

Him there is no darkness at all;
The night and the day are both alike
The lamb is the Light of the city of God
Shine in my heart Lord Jesus.
(Refrain from "I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light"

Nothing is Impossible

While we were on the Alaska cruise, we missed a Disciples class. I enjoyed doing my reading on the balcony of our cabin. Sitting on the back of the ship, watching the shore go by, I read Hebrews. Great experience.

Read these verses:

Christ, however, was faithful over God's house as a son, and we are his house if we hold firm, the confidence and the pride that belong to hope. Hebrews 3:6

We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain,... Hebrews 6:16

Those verses stopped me. We are taught that pride is a sin, and yet in the verse above, pride is something we hold onto in order to be part of God's house. And hope...we often use the word hope to mean wish, and yet in this verse, hope is the anchor of our soul. I daresay, it is not a wish.


The difference is that these have been transformed by God. It is not our sinful pride, but we are able to boast because of God. It is not our wishing that is the anchor, but God's promise.


And if you keep reading Hebrews, you find this verse:

...looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:2

Imagine that -- Christ, crucified, for the sake of the joy that was set before him. Transformation.


I said once in Sunday school that those who are ordained in the UM church say they are moving onto perfection. Someone told me that wasn't possible; I must be mistaken. I wasn't wrong -- it is one of the historical questions. It seems to me if God can transform pride into something to which we must hold firm, hope into steadfast assurance and bring joy from death, then moving me or you to wholeness is not nearly as impossible as it sounds.

With God, all things are possible.

Carry the Cross

Read this passage from Matthew 10:38-39:

If you don't go all the way with me, through thick and thin, you don't deserve me. If your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you'll find both yourself and me.

A friend of mine delivered a talk on an Emmaus walk yesterday. Prior to giving a talk, you change into a "suit and tie" outfit, and then change back into casual clothes after the talk. After we "prayed him out," and he was preparing to return to the sleeping area to change, we all remembered that the cross in the chapel needed to be moved to the Sanctuary. It's a large cross, about as tall and me. My friend said, "I'll carry the cross so I can change."

He was being literal - the Sanctuary is in the same area as the sleeping rooms, but when you think about it, it was a spiritual statement, too.

Carrying a cross will lead to our transformation. Where else can carry a heavy burden lighten our load? Where else is it that death means new life? Nowhere. Christianity is backward. Christ leads us to carrying our crosses, not so that we will suffer and be heavy burdened, but so that we can be transformed into a new creation.

Delicious Mystery

One of the lectionary readings for the week is the transfiguration story from Luke. I was browsing through the Tuesday Lectionary Leanings at RevGalBlogPals and found this quote:

It is no good inviting the congregation to envision themselves there on the mountain with the disciples; it taxes the imagination beyond credulity. (Texts for preaching, Year A, Brueggemann, et al)

Think about it. Sometimes I believe we take things for granted. Transfiguration. HoHum. They glowed white; whatever.

When we think about it, really think about it, it is, as Jupiter (in the above linked blogpost) a "delicious mystery." It is hard to believe; hard to imagine.

As I thought about that, my mind moved onto the idea of transformation. We say we are transformed by grace through the word of God. I wonder if we can even imagine it. I wonder if we can believe before our lives are changed that our lives we really be changed.

We think we can't do it -- that we can't live a life in God. And yet, even though we can't imagine it, God transforms us. We are changed in a way that is unimaginable.

It's a delicious mystery.

Image: From the RevGalBlogPals site.

Simplicity

I attended a worship service on Saturday evening which involved candles and singing. Simple. Candles and music. What was amazing is that God can take these simple elements -- candles and music -- and turn it into a demonstration of his love and grace, active in the world.

God can take pita bread and grape juice, and transform it into a meal shared by all the saints -- communion with God himself.

God can take my humble offering of whatever little talent I have and turn it into evidence of his presence among us.

God can take random thoughts and strange questions and turn it into a Sunday school lesson.

God can me or you, and transform us into a child of God, welcome in his presence.

Amazing, isn't it? Unbelievable.

Changed

In Sunday school today, we were asked if we could think of an instance where something we had done (and I don't remember the question exactly) had a positive impact on someone else's faith. Have you ever done something that helped someone else to see God or that led someone else to a transformational realization?

I don't know if I've ever done that. I do know, though, that other people have done that for me.

• In high school, my involvement in church was high. We had a strong youth group; I very much enjoyed my time in UMYF. In fact, I remember thinking in an officers' meeting one day that it would be a great goal in life to have a job that I enjoyed as much as being in youth group. After I went to college though, I lost my desire to go to church. While our church had a strong youth group, it did (and doesn't) have a particularly strong program for college kids. I would just as soon skip church as go. Once I got married, I still felt that way. My husband didn't, though. His desire to attend church inspired my own. I can't imagine what my life would be like without my involvement in church, and it was his attitude which changed my own.
• Before we had the boys, I took a two year class at church -- 2 1/2 hours a week -- to learn how to teach the Bethel Bible series. During that time, the pastor who taught the class told me that a particular Sunday school class needed a substitute for a week, and that I was going to do it. I had never taught Sunday school before, and I was scared to death, but I did it. He insisted on it.
• After that, I would teach now and then. One week, after teaching a Sunday school class -- I think it was about worrying -- I received a note from a person in the class, affirming my teaching ability. It was the beginning of my believing not just that I COULD teach, but that I WAS a teacher -- if that makes any sense. That difference changed my attitude -- teaching was not just something I did; it became something that I could not not do.
• Several people -- each at different times -- invited me to go on an Emmaus walk. I did, and it was transformational.
• One day I got an email that said, "Apply." I did.

I don't know if I have shown other people the presence of God, or if I have been part of God's transformational work in the world, but I know God has worked through other people to change my life. And I am grateful.

Image: The Ohio River last Thursday.

Prophetic and Apocalyptic

I wrote a post a day or two ago about Changes -- how some people want change which is innovation and some want change which is renovation. Completely new or rebuilt.

I was looking through the journal I keep while I read my devotional each day, and I found an entry which talks about change. The Disciplines writer says that the following two scriptures present different views of change:

1. Psalm 85:8-9 -- Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts. Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him, that his glory may dwell in our land.
2. 2 Peter 3:10-13 -- But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed. Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of people ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening* the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home.

One of the scriptures is prophetic. The prophetic view states that if we are faithful and repent, God will "restore our land." In other words -- reformation. The other scripture is apocalyptic. In this view, the world needs destroyed and replaced with a new one. Innovative change.

It started me thinking about transformation. The changing of who we are, by God, into who we were meant to be. It is impossible to do, and yet God does it -- he begins it now and finishes it in the not yet. Thinking about how I have changed -- am changing, I hope -- is it not true that I have been (and am being) recreated? Is transformation so all-encompassing that the result is actually apocalyptic, in a way? Have I not (and am I not being) replaced by something new?

On the other hand, is that something new what I was intended to be all along? And is that not prophetic, in a way?

Changes. God changes. Transformation from what we are to what we will become and were created to be all along.

Image: Sunset on the way home from work.

Taking them to the streets

I took down my office tree this morning. As I was packing away the ornaments, I noticed that many of the ones that I had purchased this year were words -- silver 'hope,' 'peace,' and 'joy' ornaments, a nativity 'noel' that sat under the tree. Even the nativity scene I bought for the office was the word "Joy" with Mary, Jesus and the Baby. I didn't do that on purpose -- I just purposefully set out to add Christian thoughts to a tree which previously (because of its location) been almost a non-Christian tree.

We sometimes talk in church about the words we use -- words like epiphany, liturgy, eucharist, redemption, and justification. We talk about how those words must be foreign to someone on the outside, who doesn't know the lingo.

I was reading a devotional this morning based on Revelation 21:1-6a. One of the verses says, "Now, the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them." The Disciplines devotional talked about God dwelling among us, and how we have seen it. The author talked about South Africa, and said it was "where the language of the church was moved into the streets as reconciliation took on flesh."

We worry about words like justification and sanctification. I wonder if we should instead be focusing on words like peace, joy and hope. How are we, as Christians, bringing these words into the world? How do we enable this essential language of the church to move into the streets and take on flesh? How do we allow God to be incarnated through what we do, and brought into the world? It seems to me that people need to know the power of these words. It seems to me that these words could make a difference in lives, on the streets and in the world.

Are we taking these words to the streets?

Image: Frost on the car window yesterday

Banishment

I was reading an article in Christianity Today. It was talking about Adam and Eve. It mentioned that part of the consequence of sin was banishment.

JtM is working on a sermon for Sunday. One of the lectionary readings that he has chosen to use is the story of Hagar and Ishmael (Genesis 21:8-21).

So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba.

Hagar and Ishmael were banished as well.

I've never paired the two incidents together.

• Both were banished as the result of sin -- obviously for Adam and Eve, but also for Hagar and Ishmael. Sarah became impatient with God (not that Abraham was blameless). Then, when Issac was born, she doubted the abundance of God.
• Both Adam and Eve and Hagar and her son were banished, but none of them were separated from God. God went with them.

I also think that it is interesting that Ishmael comes back when his father dies in order to bury him (Genesis 25:8-10). Do you wonder why he did that? Why would Ishmael come back to bury a father who deserted him -- really leaving him to die?

I wonder if there are a couple of lessons in this for us. We are banished, and yet God is with us. He does not leave us alone, even in our sin. If we let him, he will change us. He will make the impossible, possible. We will be transformed by grace.

The Way I was Made

I was listening to the radio today, and heard the song "I want to be the way I was made" by Chris Tomlin. I've heard that song before, but today I really listened the chorus.

I want to live like there's no tomorrow:
Do we live that way? Do we live our lives as if we have all the time in the world? Or do we make the most of the time we have been given, not expecting an unlimited future?

I want to dance like no one's around
I want to sing like nobody's listening
Before I lay my body down
We were in a circle during a church retreat a few weekends ago. Our outgoing pastor and our incoming pastor were serving communion, working their way around the circle. It just felt like the worship needed music, so I started singing (and happily people joined in). I don't sing; I can't sing. Singing like nobody's listening, to me, means that we sing with joy. We dance with joy. We play joy in God ahead of whether someone listening thinks we are any good or not. I have a feeling that as I have gotten older, I care less and less about other people's opinions of me.

I want to give like I have plenty
I think giving like we have plenty and loving like we are not afraid are related to each other. Do you think that sometimes we are less than generous because we worry that we won't have enough for ourselves? Do we live in a world of scarcity or of abundance? Do we act like it?

I want to love like I'm not afraid
I love that line. Loving family and loving friends places us in a position of vulnerability. We can be hurt. We can be rejected. Loving like we are not afraid is to ignore those possiblities, and to make ourselves vulnerable to the hurt of loving someone else. Why do it? Why take that risk? Because, to me, the joy of loving friends or family is so very much worth the risk. Read that carefully. There is certainly joy in being loved, but there is joy in the freedom to love someone else -- to give "agape" to other people, and I thank God I have that opportunity.

I want to be the man I was meant to be
I want to be the way I was made
God has created us in his image, and that means that we are to live life and love others as he would do -- as Jesus did. I want to be the person I was created to be; to live into my God-given potential. I hope that I am reaching toward that in some small way, at least.