How Does He Look?

When we read the Gospels, we are faced with a variety of challenges. One of the subtle, often-overlooked, issues is that of what could be called “life parallels.” We read something in the Gospels, watching something Jesus does or listening to what he says, and we can sometimes mistakenly make a direct “life parallel” to our own world and situation . . . where it might not actually be the case.

One prominent example is the Temple. As recorded in the Gospels, Jesus visited the Temple in Jerusalem a number of times. And, we might be tempted to draw a direct life parallel between the Temple in Jesus’ day and our church. But such a parallel is not, perhaps, truly appropriate.

The Temple was the sole, God-ordained place for sacrifice to be offered. There were very specific regular, as well as annual, rituals to perform. And although God’s presence was manifest in the inner most part of the Temple, the Temple probably reminded people of their distance from God rather than underscored his nearest to them. (And that idea was radically altered when, in Jesus’ dying, the veil of the Temple separating the people from their God, was ripped in two, from top to bottom!) This differs greatly from “church” as pictured in the New Testament.

But we sometimes don’t realize that distinction. So, for example, when we come to the passage in the Gospel of Mark where Jesus “cleanses the Temple,” we might end up trying to make sense of the passage and apply it in the wrong way. Mark wrote:

Then they came to Jerusalem. And He entered the temple and began to drive out those who were buying and selling in the temple, and overturned the tables of the moneychangers and the seats of those who were selling doves;  and He would not permit anyone to carry merchandise through the temple. And He began to teach and say to them, “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a robbers’ den.” (Mark 11:15-17).

Perhaps you have heard this passage applied by someone saying something like . . .

We shouldn’t sell stuff on the church property.

There is something special about our church because it is God’s house.

But such ideas betray a misappropriation of this passage. (It’s not that some case might not be made for such ideas, but it would be hard to insist that such things are what Jesus is intending to teach by what he did in the Temple.)

For the follower of Jesus, there are no God-ordained places for sacrifice; one sacrifice has already been made–the cross of Jesus wholly and in a holy way replaced all sacrifices. According to the author of the letter to the Hebrews, the Temple was a shadow, a picture, of what was real. It was intended to point to something; it wasn’t the something. And, the church in the New Testament is not a stand in for the Temple. Also, Paul makes clear, in his letters, that God’s dwelling place is now in the hearts and lives of the followers of Jesus.

So, there is no direct “life parallel” between the Temple in Jerusalem and the church you might attend. But, if that is the case, then what are we to learn from Jesus’ “cleansing of the Temple”? Is there something for us to see there?

Maybe the thing for contemporary readers of the Gospel to grasp in this passage is less about “sacred buildings” and more about Jesus in the midst of normal “religious” life.

Jesus steps into what looks like a very “lively” religious setting. But he doesn’t see what he thinks ought to characterize life with the Father. It’s really not so much about the place but about the people who are acting as if they are religious.

They don’t privilege prayer. Jesus does. They don’t welcome others. Jesus does. They are self-consumed and concerned about what’s in it for themselves. Jesus isn’t. It really is about how Jesus is looking at things . . . and not so much what he is specifically looking at.

If I put my attention on who is in the Temple and what matters most to him, then his “cleansing of the Temple” becomes much more powerful and provocative . . . and I don’t end up simplifying the idea to whether we sell books in the lobby of the church building.

I wonder how Jesus looks at what I do?

Do I privilege real conversation with God over appearance? Do I see worship as an occasion to invite and welcome others to join me in approaching God? Does genuine worship characterize my days, or just religious kind of busy-ness?

Saying Words They Didn’t Understand

Many are impressed by Jesus. I know I am. Many people speak well of him. I hope my words always make much of him. But, sometimes, being impressed with him and speaking well of him is not enough. It’s not that such things are bad; clearly not. It’s just that if I only settle for being impressed and speaking well of him . . . well . . . I could simply being caught up in some kind of contemporary “jazz” about Jesus and not really “get” what he is up to.

Let me explain . . . by turning back to the Gospel of Mark.

For months and months, Jesus has been teaching and healing and speaking and delivering and extending kindness and doing good. People are impressed and healed and encouraged and instructed and drawn to him. Jesus is, truly, impressive . . . in the best possible sense. And as a result, wherever he goes, crowds follow.

And now, as Mark tells the tale, Jesus is heading into Jerusalem. He has already told his closest followers that trouble is brewing. He has informed them that when they get to the city, he will be delivered over to the authorities, that he will be killed, and that he will “rise again” (although even his closest friends and followers don’t seem to get all of that).

As he approaches the city, two of his disciples, at his request, procure a colt for him to ride in on. And that is what he does.

They brought the colt to Jesus and put their coats on it; and he sat on it. And many spread their coats in the road, and others spread leafy branches which they had cut from the fields. Those who went in front and those who followed were shouting:  “Hosanna!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David;  Hosanna in the highest!” (Mark 11:7-10).

It’s Passover time in Jerusalem. The city if filled with visitors, with worshippers. The atmosphere in the city would have been electric (even in the days before electricity!). The revelers would have been singing songs drawn on the Psalms; they would have been celebrating God’s goodness.

As Jesus approaches, these celebrants break into a new song. They recognize Jesus and they pick up one of the Psalms of the celebration and begin making much of Jesus. They are impressed with him. They speak well of him. They adopt and adapt the language of the Psalms to celebrate him.

But do they really grasp what they are saying? Do they really know what is going on? Do they understand how appropriate the Psalm they sing is, given what is happening?

Apparently not. Within a few short days, this throng has vanished, the celebrants’ attention has been averted, Jesus will be abandoned by even his closest friends and followers, the rejoicing will be forgotten . . . and all the “well-speaking” will have faded away.

It’s not that these were not impressed with Jesus. It is not that they weren’t speaking well of him. It’s only that their awe was apparently somewhat shallow, their celebration a bit too transient, their gracious words short-lived, their grasp of who Jesus really is and the real reason for the grounds for celebration inadequate.

The worship–the “making much of Jesus”–ended when things didn’t turn out as they expected or anticipated. In the moment, they were caught up with him. In the press of others, they let their hearts be turned to him. But they were saying words that they didn’t really understand. And, so, it didn’t last.

This picture pushes on my soul. The temporary revelry forces me to think. The quickly-fading echoes off the walls of the city raises questions in my heart.

Am I saying words I don’t understand? Do I make much of Jesus only because I think he is going to do and be all I want him to be? Do I really grasp who he is and what he has come to do? Do I pick up the songs of the Psalms and turn to worship him because I really do understand? Am I saying words I don’t understand?

I pray that is not the case. I long to make much of him because I do see him for who he is and I do grasp–at least in a small degree–what he is all about.

I Could Never . . . !

As reflected in earlier posts on Philippians, Paul invites the believers in Philippi to a wonderful and high calling: Have the same mind, the same attitude about life and loving, that Jesus did (Phil. 2:1-8). The invitation is not simply to do the kinds of things that Jesus did (which could be reduced in the minds of some to doing “random acts of kindness”), but to genuinely experience such transformation through the Spirit that one comes to think–to approach life–the way Jesus did and does. It’s about thinking like Jesus thinks, and valuing what Jesus values, and living for the things Jesus lives for. And that is a staggering thought.

Having extended this invitation, Paul encourages these followers and friends of Jesus to give themselves entirely to this call (Phil. 2:12-15). He really expects that they not only will want to live this way, but because God is the one who is working in and through them, they will be able to live this way (Phil. 2:13). And that is a provocative idea.

I wonder if those who first heard those words have the same reaction that I do . . . “I could never live that way!” I find myself saying things like . . .

How could anyone ever expect to really live like Jesus?

There is just so much “stuff” in me . . . I will never get there.

It seems like an impossibly high calling–it’s beyond my reach.

But then my eyes fall on the next few verses. And I hear Paul speak of Timothy and Epaphroditus. They are men personally unfamiliar to me, although they would have been known to the Philippians. And what catches my attention is how Paul describes them.

He says of Timothy (Phil. 2:19-24) that he “will genuinely be concerned for [their] welfare” and that he does not “seek after [his] own interest” but “[the interests] of Christ Jesus” and that he faithfully served with Paul. He writes of Epaphroditus (Phil. 2:25-29) that he cared for others to the point of deep longing and that he labored “to the point of death” for the benefit of others and that he “risked his life to complete what was lacking” when it came to loving service.

So, what is Paul doing? He is reminding the Philippians (and, in doing that, pointing out to us) a couple of men who, in fact, were growing to live the very kind of self-giving, others-focused, Jesus-like life that Paul was calling for. He presents two “case studies” of people–flesh and blood, real human, just-like-us, people–who were coming to live lives characterized by “having this attitude in themselves that was just like the attitude of Jesus Himself” (to paraphrase Phil. 2:5).

What this means is that my insistence that “I could never” grow to live the kind of Jesus-influenced life Paul holds out to us is just not true. The invitation is not hollow, it is not beyond reach, it is not unattainable. It just may be that all too few of those who know and follow Jesus really come to grasp that Jesus’ intention really is that we grow up to think like him, value what he values, live for what he lives for, live the way he lived . . . and still lives!

Paul extends the invitation–rooted in Jesus’ own call. Maybe it’s time to stop insisting that “I could never . . . “

And You Said Your Name Was . . .?

It seems like every year there are more and more award shows. People get awards for all kinds of “achievements”–even when the achievements aren’t about things that really matter. But we are enamored by the stars, the successes, the famous. And, sadly, that kind of thinking sometimes bleeds into the church.

The Christian world has its stars, as well. There are those who appear to us to be something of a “step above” the rest of us who are seeking to follow Christ. There are the superstars of the faith, and then lots of those of us who are just “average Joe” and “average Josephine” Christ-followers.

But I really don’t believe that thinking is healthy or appropriate. And part of what drives that thinking is the kind of thing I see in Acts.

Yes, in Luke’s account of the growing church, there are “big name” Christians. People like Paul and Peter, Stephen and Philip, get our attention. We can become improperly impressed with these disciples and what Jesus did through them by the Spirit. Because, you see, some of the most amazing stuff Jesus did in those early days he did through un-named Christians.

The Gospel took root in the city of Antioch. That was a Gentile city, far beyond the borders of Palestine where Jesus spent his time ministering. Antioch, we are told by Luke, is the first place that the followers of Jesus were called “Christians.” That means this was the first city where the followers of Jesus came to be so noticed by the general public that they had to be identified with their own “title.” (And, when that title was first used, it was more a dis-respectful naming than we tend to think of it.) And according to Acts 13, the community of disciples of Jesus in Antioch became the first “missionary sending” church. That’s all pretty amazing. The first real Gentile church; the first community of faith to wear the name “Christian;” the first missionary sending church.

And who planted that church? Peter? Paul? Maybe Philip? No . . .

So then those who were scattered because of the persecution that occurred in connection with Stephen made their way to Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except to Jews alone. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who came to Antioch and began speaking to the Greeks also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a large number who believed turned to the Lord. (Acts 11:19-21)

Jesus’ hand was upon a few scattered, un-named followers of his, who happened to end up in Antioch and simply tried to be who Jesus wanted them to be in a strange and new place. They weren’t some of the named apostles; they aren’t identified as prophets or named as prominent church planters or pastors. They were a few “basic” disciples who–when the opportunity arose because of the bad stuff happening in Jerusalem–lived the kind of life Jesus intended for them to live. And Jesus blessed that! Yet no one apparently thought to ask, “And you said your name was . . . ?”

And the first Gentile church is planted. And the followers of Jesus who became part of that church are the first to be named “Christian.” And that community of faith becomes a dynamic missionary sending, world-reaching living organism of faith.

Maybe Acts isn’t so much about the named guys we meet in the book; Luke just tells us the names because some might have known them. Maybe Acts isn’t really about some who breath a rarer air than the “average” Christian; Luke simply is telling us what happened as believers in Jesus sought to live out their lives.

Maybe Acts is really about what Jesus does through the lives of those who know him as they depend on the Spirit and are given over to living for him. Maybe Acts is more about people like you and me . . . .

And you said your name was . . . ?

Following The Lord . . . Surprisingly

We speak about having a personal relationship with Jesus. And that is good. It’s an idea rooted in the Gospels and described in the Epistles. We don’t want to have a “grasp of good principles” or merely settle into “living moral lives” all based on the example of a long dead guy. We want relationship with the living Savior, Jesus.

But doing life with Jesus, when he is no longer physically present as he was in the days of his incarnation is a bit of a challenge. How do we walk with him when we can’t see him?

A number of posts on this blog address issue like “learning to listen” and following the Spirit. I continue to try and think biblically and honestly about just how this is supposed to happen . . . in my life and the lives of others. And I came across an encouraging and interesting moment in Luke’s account of the church in Acts that pictures following the Lord in a surprising way.

In Acts 10 and the first part of 11, we have an account of how Peter ends up talking with a Gentile guy and his family; the man’s name was Cornelius and Peter ends up sharing the good news with Cornelius and his family and they come to faith in Jesus. Peter had times of prayer, and a vision (repeatedly), and a specific word from the Spirit, and angelic messages through others, and a fortuitous turn of events to help him follow the Lord. All those things went into how Peter ended up doing what Jesus wanted him to do. And, candidly, I often long for such things–such direct “leading.”

But it is right after that, as Luke reports about the establishing of the first truly Gentile community of faith, that I end up a bit surprised. The good news ends up getting all the way to Antioch, a city some good distance beyond the boundaries of Palestine and, hence, a primarily non-Jewish place. And that is where the first Gentile congregation is planted . . . a church that actually is the first community to be branded with the name “Christian” and the first church that purposefully sent out missionaries to reach others. Pretty cool. And I am forced to ask: “How’d that happen?”

Luke tells us . . .

So then those who were scattered because of the persecution that occurred in connection with Stephen made their way to Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except to Jews alone. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who came to Antioch and [began] speaking to the Greeks also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a large number who believed turned to the Lord. (Acts 11:19-21)

A few men, from Cyprus and Cyrene, who had been in Jerusalem and had come to know Jesus, were in that city when Stephen was killed (as recorded by Luke in Acts 7 and 8). And the heat got turned up in that city. Persecution began. Followers of Jesus fled because of the trouble. And these guys ended up in Antioch.

Did they have a mission strategy? Apparently not. (Was that where the bus dumped them out? Did they run out of denarii?) Did the Spirit specifically direct them this way? We are not told so. In fact, to speak of these believers being “scattered” sounds much more like they kind of dispersed randomly from the city because of the trouble.

But when they got to Antioch, something happened. Jesus’ “hand was upon them.” Apparently they were doing what Jesus wanted and he was pleased to bless what they were doing. They were, therefore, doing his will. They were all about what he wanted for them. And how did they get there? Surprisingly . . . by being scattered.

I feel that way some times . . . often. I try and think and plan for what I believe the Lord wants for me. I try and listen, in and through the Scriptures and for the voice of the Spirit. And some times . . . often . . . I am not really sure I hear anything at all. And the day just begins to unfold, and I feel like I am being driven or carried along by the circumstances . . . kind of like being scattered.

And I wonder if I have missed the will of God for me, for that day, in that moment. But, maybe not. Maybe Jesus is able to get me to where he wants me to be and is intending to bless what we do when we simply are the people he intends us to be wherever we might find ourselves.

Like brothers who end up fleeing trouble and landing in Antioch, it may be that a part of following the Lord is to willing “be” who we are wherever we find ourselves today.

Just Who Do I Think I Am?

We all live, more or less consistently, in line with how we conceive ourselves. That is, we live out what or who we think we are. Although we will seek to grow and develop, mature and improve, the way we think about ourselves at the core of our being, the way we imagine ourselves in those quiet personal moments of reflection, will powerfully shape how we live.

If we believe that we are unloved and unloveable, that will impact all our relationships with others. If we have embraced the view that, in a most basic sense, we are fatally flawed and broken, we will live up (or, perhaps, better “live down”) to that image.

So, how we think about ourselves–and whether the view we have of ourselves is true–is vitally important to living well.

These thoughts were stirred as I was glancing at the opening verses of Paul’s letter to the believing community in Rome. This is the “great apostle Paul” who is writing. This is the man who has been part of changing the face of the Roman world of his day. He has planted churches throughout most of the known world of the time. He has seen countless numbers healed and delivered; God has worked amazing miracles at his hands. And he is writing to believers in the city of Rome, hoping to come and see them.

As was common practice in that day, letters began with an identification of the writer. And so Paul pens these words:

Paul, a bond-servant of Christ Jesus, called [as] an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God (Romans 1:1).

Paul says three things about himself. In this opening line, he betrays a good bit about how he thinks about himself.

He is a bond-servant of Christ Jesus. He is a slave; that is what the word means. He belongs to another; he is not his own man. He lives to do the bidding of another. Paul sees himself as anything but independent, living his own life his way.

Paul is (literally) a “called apostle.” (The brackets in the quote above are this particular translation’s way of indicating that the translators inserted the word an to help make the English a bit more readable.) Let’s unpack this short phrase.

It is not that Paul is called to be an apostle; not that he is growing up to become that. And the “calling” idea is rich and deep for Paul. It carries a divine mandate kind of sense–that is the way that Paul uses the “called” idea throughout this letter. “Apostle” is less formal title and more descriptor. The word “apostle” means commissioned and sent delegate; you might think “ambassador.” So Paul is saying that he is on assignment, doing what he is doing because God has sent him to do what he does.

And then Paul says that he is “set apart for the Gospel of God.” This language of “set apart” speaks of something defined by boundaries, marked out by specific limits. And the limits, these boundaries, for Paul are defined by the Gospel.

So, how might we capture the essence of what Paul is saying in more contemporary language to make sure we don’t reduce his thoughts to cliche? Perhaps we might say something like:

I am Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus to whom I belong and at whose beck and call I stand ready to serve, a delegated and sent representative on assignment, one whose life is defined by the good news of what God has done in and through Jesus Christ.

Now I know that neither you nor I have the identical call on our lives that Paul did; that’s not only true, but it’s OK. But just how do you think about yourself? How might Paul’s thinking about himself encourage a bit more proper self-conception in us?

Do I see myself as wholly given over to another? Do I rightly grasp that I am not my own person? That, having been bought with the blood of the Son, I now belong, as servant, to him?

Do I see myself, in whatever I am doing, on assignment from the throne of heaven? Do I rightly recognize that what I do is, in the deepest sense, what I am given to do by God? Do I think of how I spend my days and hours and minutes as a stewardship granted in the service of the rightful King and as a representative of the only true Kingdom?

Do I understand that the only proper defining lines for how I live and the way I carry out this serving ambassadorship is the good news that comes to me through Jesus? Does the reality of the Gospel shape my relationships, my work ethic, my family living, my worship, my free time, my finances? Am I defined by the Gospel?

My specific call is different than Paul’s. But the contours of thinking, the way Paul grasped who he thought he was, provides healthful and holy ways to understand just who I am.

And understanding that is essential to living well.

When the Going Gets Tough

Paul’s life was hardly an easy lot. From the very beginning of his journey with Jesus, he faced hardship, opposition, persecution, challenges. He was no stranger to how hard things can be for one who follows Jesus–and yet he seems to overflow with joy.

In his letter to the Philippians, that is clear. Although he is not where he’d like to be (after all, who wants to be in prison, forgotten and overlooked?!), he still writes to friends to share his joy with them and encourage them in joyful, Jesus-focused living. Amazing!

Part way through chapter two, after writing about living life in a Jesus-way and noting that such living is possible because God moves in the souls of Jesus followers to provide both the impetus and the empowerment for such living, Paul encourages his readers to live such a life without grumbling. In other words: Stop griping about the challenge of living out this life and embrace it as a gift from God and get on with it!

But notice what else he adds to the end of this encouragement:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life . . . (Philippians 2:14-16)

Paul’s so honest about life. He says that (even in his day) this world can sure be crooked and perverse. The first word is the root from which we get the English word “scoliosis” (referring to curvature of the spine). It means twisted, bent out of proper shape. The second word speaks of something that distorted resulting in an image or a path that is all wrong. What a description of how life, at times, appears: all bent out of shape and distorted so that life doesn’t make sense.

And how does Paul think the Philippians (and, for that matter, all friends of Jesus) are going to live lives that are holy and blameless in that kind of setting? He suggests that part of what enables us to live such “children of God” kind of lives is as we “hold fast the word of life.”

The “word of life” is one way that Paul speaks of the Gospel–the truth of what God has done and is doing in the world through the life, death, resurrection, ascension, and glorification of Jesus, the Son. The Gospel is God’s plan to rescue sinful people and make them into his own children. That is the word of life.

But Paul says that the followers of Jesus need to “hold fast” the word of life. What does that mean?It’s an interesting expression; the verb doesn’t appear often in New Testament.

A great picture that conveys the sense of the word is found in Acts 3:5. There the word is used to speak of what a lame man did as Peter and John passed by, thinking that he might receive something from them. He “latched onto” them; this was not casual glance. The man clung to PEter and John in anticipation, he held fast, he gave them his full and undivided attention. 

And Paul tells us that a significant part of how we survive and thrive in a world that distorted and twisted is by latching on to the Gospel message that is the real word of life.

When the going gets tough (and, really, it always is), then the followers of Jesus cling even more tenaciously, intentionally, and consciously to the message of truth, the word of life, the glorious good news of what God is doing in and through our friend and Savior, Jesus.

I know that when I feel the toughness of life, I do want to hold on to something. But often, I end up latching on to things that are not really going to help me. Maybe I tighten my grip on my possessions, thinking they will provide me security. Perhaps I latch on to power or reputation, hoping that my sense of self will weather the storm. It differs from trouble to trouble, but like all of us I look for something that will be dependable in the midst of a twisted and broken world.

And Paul’s words come back to me. The invitation to live out Jesus’ kind of life is attractive. And a significant way to give in to that kind of life and live well in the midst of a twisted and broken world is to get an unyielding grip on the truth of the Gospel.

So, what are you holding on to today?

And My Part Is . . . ?

Although most of the posts (to date) have been anchored in either Mark or Philippians, I am still personally drilling down into other books of the Bible, trying to learn what it is that God is up to in the world, in my community of faith, in my life. Recently, I have been spending time in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, and although this is not a “new read” for me, I have been delightfully surprised by what the Spirit has called my attention to.

In this letter, in chapter one, verses 3 through 14, Paul describes what it is that God has done for those who have come to faith in Jesus. As Paul wrote it, it is one long sentence that celebrates the grace and goodness and glory of God in drawing people into life through what he has done through the life and death and resurrection of Jesus. (It’s well worth taking a minute or so to read the passage. If you don’t have a Bible at hand, the link at the bottom of this page will take you to a web site where you can read what Paul wrote.)

The first thing that strikes me about this pantheon of praise to God is how God-centric it is. The real “actor” in this passage is God himself. It is all about what God did.

He (God) blessed, he chose, he predestined, he bestowed, he lavished, he is working out all things for the good pleasure of his will. It’s just layer upon layer of rich and undeserved and unmerited and entirely gracious and free blessings–all by God’s doing. Life and adoption and holiness and redemption and forgiveness and salvation and the provision of the Spirit all come to us freely through the grace of God that he pours out on us for his own purposes and so that all that happens would be to the praise of the glory of his grace. Amazing stuff.

But that left me thinking: What is my part in all of this? What am I supposed to do in light of all this that God does?

Perhaps you’ve felt yourself put under pressure by some well-intentioned church-goer who demanded of you: God has done so much for you, what are going to do for him? Maybe you simply live with the weight of feeling or thinking or believing that this “good news” of what God has done is just too good to be true and you anticipate the “bad news” coming and are getting ready to pull your weight and do your part to ensure that this life with God becomes real.

Well, I noticed, that in this lengthy proclamation of the good news of God’s grace that reaches us in and through Jesus, that we do have a part–only it is not what I anticipated or what is often championed.

Paul wrote and said that those who were the recipients of these many and manifold blessings . . .

Listened to the message of this good news of God’s grace (1:13)

Placed their hope in Jesus Christ in anticipation of what God would, in grace, do (1:12)

Believed what it was that God said he would in and for them because of Jesus (1:13)

Listened, hoped, believed. That’s it. That’s my part in the outworking of this amazing and life-altering plan of God to bestow blessings on the undeserving because of what Jesus accomplished in coming to give his life for sinners.

My part is to listen to this great and good news, fix my hope on what God says that he will ultimately do in getting glory for himself, and believe or trust him that what he says and what he does will be that life transforming, that good.

My part is . . . well . . . to embrace this good news as if it really is good news!

Convergence

With some friends, I have been thinking about “listening to the Spirit.” We have discussing what it means to walk in experiential reality with Jesus and to keep in step with the Spirit when Jesus is no longer physically present on the earth and when the Spirit who dwells within us is “incorporeal” (that doesn’t mean “not real”–although many seem to relate to the Spirit that way–but it means without a physical body).

We want to be able to hear from Jesus, know the mind of the Spirit, and find ourselves–with at least a small degree of certainty–”walking with God.”

Now, of course, we can turn to the Scriptures to discern what it is that God wants for us; much of what we long to know, God addresses in his Word. But what about those issues and choices and decisions and options that are not addressed directly in Scripture? Things like . . .

Where should I go to school?

Should I take that new job or not?

Who should I marry?

Is it a good thing for me to go on that mission trip? Or change my major? Or . . .

Although there might be some general guidelines in the Scriptures that have bearing on such decisions, and although we are enjoined (in Proverbs as well as elsewhere) to make “prudent” or “wise” decisions, there are times when we long to know: “Jesus, what do you want me to do?” And, a generic answer just might not cut it.

We were discussing Peter. Here’s someone who walked with Jesus, daily and in a physical way–up until the ascension. And then, no more! Jesus was no longer physically present and Peter could no longer listen to and follow Jesus in the same way that he had before. So, does Peter just go about his merry way, oblivious to what God might want for him? I don’t think so.

In Acts 9, we watch as Peter goes about doing the things he has come to understand Jesus wants him to do. He shares the good news about what Jesus has accomplished. He heals others in a manner he has come to see Jesus do. He has a general sense of what Jesus wants for him to do, and he does it. And then we come to Acts 10.

Peter, a good Jewish-raised follower of Jesus ends up going to a Gentile’s home. That would have been a huge obstacle. (That’s clear from the discussions elsewhere in the New Testament about the challenge that faced the early church in conceptualizing the relationship that would exist between Jew and Gentile once Jesus got a hold of both groups.) But, nevertheless, Peter went; and the Spirit worked in the Gentile’s family’s lives and the household was converted.

But then in Acts 11, Peter’s Jewish-raised co-followers of Jesus raised a question: “Why did you go and hang out with Gentiles?” Great question. And Peter’s basic answer is: God told me to go. (You probably need to stop and read Acts 9-11 to make sure you understand clearly what is going on and so you are resting on God’s words and not merely these blogged thoughts!)

So, for me, the question is: How did Peter know that God wanted him to go? And, as I look at what Peter said in Acts 11 to his friends, I see a number of elements that go into how Peter heard God. (I  will probably unpack each of these a bit more in future posts, but for the time being let me just briefly list what I see to be the five basic elements.)

1. Peter had been praying. Peter uses the generic word for pray; he was “talking with God.” (As opposed to making specific requests, or offering thanks.) So, to hear from God, Peter made time to talk with him.

2. Peter was open to an experiential “interruption” from God. Some Christians seem to think God is mute; that he can’t or doesn’t communicate. If Peter had thought that “Old Testament prophets got visions but God doesn’t do those kinds of things today” he would have dismissed the moment. So, to hear from God, Peter at least needed to be open to the possibility God might communicate.

3. Peter pushed back and thought about the experience. Every “spiritual experience” is not automatically from God nor a communication from him. Had Peter thought that, he would not have questioned and wrestled with the vision he saw and the voice he heard. So, to hear from God, Peter needed to be discerning and not naive.

4. Peter was willing to step out. In response to a combination of vision and voice, Peter tentatively stepped out to go with some strangers who came to the door, asking for him. It’s clear from the record of his experience in Cornelius’ house that Peter wasn’t absolutely sure what God was up to until he got there. But, Peter was at least willing to step out on what he thought God might be saying. So, to hear from God, Peter had to be willing to take a risk.

5. Peter sought to anchor what he believed was happening in what he was already sure Jesus had said and taught. Peter, looking back on his experience, sought to root his subjective “hearing” with what he knew, clearly, that Jesus had already said. So, to hear from God, Peter sought to understand his “leading” in light of Jesus already revealed word.

Not a formula. Not a method. Not “five steps to hearing from God.” It’s just Peter’s retelling how he knew what God had said. And, in the convergence of those five things, he ended up being sure.

Not a Dim Bulb

It has become a more complex problem, selecting light bulbs for the light fixtures around home. The choices have become multiplied! There are different kinds of light (some more “natural” others “warmer”), they draw different amounts of electricity while still insisting they give similar amounts of light, some are supposedly more ecologically friendly . . . it’s hard to just go in and get a “sixty-watt bulb” these days. But what that reminds me is that there are a variety of components that go into making light what it is.

Paul tells the Philippians that they are “light.” Specifically, they “appear as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15). He states this after inviting them to embrace a life fully given over to Jesus’ way of life.

It seems that Paul is saying that because they belong to Jesus, because they have come to share his life, they are, in fact, lights in the world. But he in calling them to give themselves more intentionally to this life. Why? Perhaps to cultivate their “light-ness.”

As I listen to Paul’s words, it seems to me he touches on a number of things that hinder might hinder my “light-ness.” He writes:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life . . . (Philippians 2:14-16)

So, when in the midst of the challenges of life, as I am growing into this life Jesus shares with me, when I grumble and complain, my “light-ness” is diminished. When the way I handle living in relationship with others is more about me than about Jesus, I can appear to be little more than a dim bulb . . . the light is not shining very brightly. It isn’t evident that I am a child of God and that Jesus is working his life out in and through me when all that is coming out of mouth is the kind of bickering and complaining that those who don’t know Jesus are all too familiar with.

But it is not just my demeanor that might get in the way of my “light-ness.” Paul refers to ”holding fast the word of life.” The expression “word of life” in Paul’s writings is a reference to the Gospel–the message of truth about who Jesus is and what he came to do in rescuing people from their sin and bringing them in to life with God. And when I do not hold on to the message of the Gospel tightly–holding fast the word of life–than my “lightness” diminishes. I might be relatively free from grumbling, but if the message being broadcast from my lips and my life isn’t focused clearly on Jesus and who he is and what he has done and what he is doing, than I can appear to be little more than a dim bulb . . . the light is not shining very clearly.

This world in which we live is a dark place. Jesus intends to draw people out of the darkness and into his life. And those who already know him are privileged to be lamps, lights, that help others move from darkness into that light. And we share in that by being–by his grace and through his Spirit–”light.”

When I spend my days grumbling, it’s hard for others to see what I live for. The light is dim. When I am bitter about how Jesus is shaping me to love and care for others, it’s hard for others to see that there is a different kind of life available. The light is dim. When I “buck up” and live without real complaint but without any real message of life, no one sees in and through my life a witness to the light they so desperately need. The light is dim.

I don’t want to be a dim bulb. I want to live in a way that enlightens the world around me. So . . .

Enough of the grumbling. Enough with the pushing against what Jesus is doing. And more of making much of Jesus who is doing this incredible thing in me of making me like him!