Bill’s Musings

It isn’t often you will find writing on political issues and happenings, but this morning it seems appropriate.

I wonder what it feels like to wake the morning after the election, look in the mirror and ask “what the &%$$ did I get myself into?” In case your wondering, yes I’m speaking of the US presidential elections. The election of Obama says a lot about the country that the US has become, a country that is increasingly maturing from its not always pretty racial past. For that reason, there is a lot more at stake in this presidency than just Obama’s political career. 

Last night I watched some coverage of the celebration in Chicago where the crowd chanted “yes we can” in response to Obama’s rallying cry. The mob zeal was both exciting and frightening. “Yes we can,” is very different from “yes we will.” Both are meaningless apart from a concrete reference to an act. Just as troubling is that the first is unrealized.

I am far less interested in what a person “can” do and what a person “will” do. As Obama looks in the mirror this morning, he might well reflect on all that he “can” do. The real test, however, is what he “will” do.

As Christians we are instructed to pray for our leaders. Not that we don’t have enough to pray about here in Canada, but we would do well to pray for Obama too.

In the absence of my own content–which will return soon!–allow me to recommend a book review by Dr. David Guretzki on “The Shack”.

Warning, theological content ahead…

http://dguretzki.wordpress.com/2008/10/26/the-shack-a-review/

My coffee cup is almost empty. I’ve spent some time reading posts and comments on some of my favorite blogs. My mind has been stirred theologically, pastorally, and in my own humanity. I am considering some changes to the format of my blog, but not all that seriously.

So what does any of this have to do with anything? Community, namely the composition  and nature of community.

Postmodern thinking has helped us consider how we identify our community. Technology has given us the ability to redefine community–or at least redefine the geographic scope of community–in ways that created both perplexing problems and unprecedented opportunities.

For instance, in the time I spent reading a couple of my professor’s blogs this morning, I might have been able to spend with some one else face to face. Geographically, I am a good day’s drive away from the school. In a physical sense I am no longer part of that community. I am physically part of another community, namely the church that I pastor.

Does the “virtual community” augment, or distract from “real community”? (I place these terms in quotes as I am not sure that the distinctions are even close to being valid.)

As I see it, the “virtual community” and the “real community” co-exist symbiotically, albeit it an asymmetrical priority. As I see it, “real” face to face community, the breaking of bread, tangible expressions of communion, must always take priority. At the same time, this “real community” speaks through me to the “virtual community” and the “virtual community” in a sense becomes joined to the “real” for the simple reason that I am shaped and informed by both.

Perhaps, in some sense, the “virtual community” permits the “real community” to taste a little of the restored communion of the promised new creation. Instead of being cut off and in isolation, cast out into a diaspora of sorts, we can extend the circle of communion far beyond geographical limitations.

That said, perhaps the danger of the “virtual community” is that we become satisfied with the extended communion instead of longing for the restoration of communion in the new creation.

Lord, may we never be content with a communion of our own making.

I have been thinking about words lately. Specifically the words that make up our typical Christian parlance. Words like “worship”, “saved” or phrases like “personal relationship” (isn’t “personal relationship” something of an oxymoron?). We use these words freely in Christian settings, but do we really know what they mean?

I have this growing unease that we have become far more familiar with these terms than we have with the Biblical concepts behind them.

For instance, does our common use of the word “worship” reflect the Biblical concepts of worship? Does singing music that stirs a pleasant reverent emotional state equal Biblical worship? Jesus spoke of worshipping “in spirit and in truth.” Is there a connection between pleasant feelings and worshipping in spirit and in truth? The picture gets even fuzzier when we consider OT worship. (I am foregoing an excursus into the original languages here even though if adds fuel to my unease, but  this post is on “words” not the specifics of the theological implications of the “words.”) The bottom line is this, can the majority of Christians offer a definition of worship that would stand up to the test of being Biblical?

(I concede here that even the term “Biblical” is problematic.)

How about “saved”. Saved from what? Saved for what? It seems that saved has become a coded way of saying things like justified, reconciled and redeemed. That is fine if we understand what is behind the short fomr term “saved,” but again, how well is it understood?

The latest one to trouble me is the phrase “personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” I have been a Christian long enough to know what this means…at least what it means to me.  Is it strictly speaking Biblical, or is it a derivative concept?  The Pharisees had a relationship with Jesus, albeit rather acrimonious.  So what does “relationship” mean?

Those of you who know me reasonably well will understand that I am not simply stirring the pot or questioning the basics of the Christian faith. I am also not implying a lack of intellect on the part of Christians, far from it. If anything, it is academia that is responsible for pumping out a steady stream of words and phrases that mean something to someone. All I am doing here is stepping back and asking foundational questions.

When words or phrases become overly familiar, we risk teaching the terms rather than the foundational concepts that stand behind the terms. What is worse is that we risk unintentionally creating a Christianity that is divorced from what Jesus taught and the Apostles provided a witness to.

The real and present danger is that of idolatry. If our common knowledge and faith is divorced from its foundations, we have a religion of our own making. Words do matter. What they mean matters even more. If postmodernity has taught us anything, it is that we ought not to presume the meaning of words, especially those with eternal consequences. 

I have been intending to write on lament for some time, but when ever I sat down to write a post on lament, I had the sense that there was something lacking in my understanding. While I thought that I had a grip on historical Biblical lament as found in the Psalms, I needed to break out of the box to complete the conceptual transfer to pastoral ministry.

In this past month I have jumped out of the academic world into pastoral ministry. This first month has been deeply challenging. Specifically (but devoid of details) I have watched people face the loss of a love one. While age catches up with all of us, this individual was younger than I am. The reality of the pain and suffering experienced in this world became poignant if not pungent.

My struggle with lament is this, if Biblical lament such as the Psalmist’s is directly connected with the covenant and rightful covenantal expectations, what is appropriate lament for the Christian?

The Psalmist’s complaint (such as Psalm 44 for one) is not just complaining about life, it is a complaint rooted in  covenantal expectations. This leads to the question, what part of, if any, do these covenantal expectations apply to the Church today? How does this relate to suffering and loss in our context?

The quick answer is that we must turn to the New Covenant. This leads to the next question of what is our rightful expectations under the New Covenant. I do wonder if the common expectations of North American Christian’s really line up with what Jesus promised. A quick read of the Sermon on the Mount casts some doubt in my mind.

Setting aside such broad generalities, allow me to return to a somewhat more specific lament event, the suffering of illness and loss.

The New Covenant does not promise that we will not suffer. Suffering is part of the human experience in this present life. While the sting of death is gone, the reality of it is not. People suffer, be it physically or emotionally. Life is messy and not always pleasant. What the New Covenant does promise is that in the resurrection suffering is no more.

 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (ESV, Revelation 21:3-4)

The Psalmist’s laments would have us acknowledge above all else that God is God and we are not. The laments often look forward to a sure resolution cast in stone, but not necessarily fully realized by the Psalmist. This is the now and not yet that we live in. Yet, God knows a glorious future that He only gives us a teasing glimpse of.

Like the Psalmist, when faced with troubling questions, the unanswered “why”, the “how long” we must turn to God in faith, looking to the ultimate fulfillment of the New Covenant. We ought to join with the Psalmist in his lament and cry out,

But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me (Psalm 13:5-6).

Yet the Christian lament goes beyond even a declaration of trust. The closing verses of the book of Revelation provide the final word on lament.

“Come Lord Jesus” (Rev. 22:20).

This is the Christian lament.

If you haven’t read the previous posting, I would encourage you to do so. If nothing else, this one may not make sense unless you do…and yes I hear the question “do any of them make sense?”

First, keep in mind with the questions I pose here, that I am asking these on a deep level. It isn’t that I don’t know the common or popular answers to these questions. I do, however, believe that sometimes we need to slip beneath the surface to reacquaint ourselves with the foundations of the Christian faith, and in particular, the foundations of ministry.

…

To carry on from the last post…what is it that I bring to the local church? What do I bring as a pastor? What does it mean to be a pastor?

In the later part of the first century, the Apostle John appointed Polycarp the Bishop of Smyrna. Like his teacher, Polycarp took on the battle against Gnosticism in the church.

Polycarp was also a notable leader in the early church who offers pastors today a cautionary word of advice. In a letter to the Church in Philippi (likely written a century after the Apostle Paul’s letter) he wrote, “I am greatly grieved for Valens, who was once a presbyter among you, because he so little understands the place that was given him in the Church” (Polycarp’s letter to the Phillipians 11:1).

What is the place that was given to Valens? What is the place that has been given to me? Valen’s downfall was covetousness. What do I covet? What struggles do I face? What “rights,” expectations and desires must I joyfully set aside for the sake of the Church? Do I understand what it means to be “the pastor”?

These are not trite questions. The place of the pastor is within the church community. It is the place where who the pastor is will speak far louder than what he says. It is the place of being who God intends us to be.

It would seem to me that who I am, being who God intends me to be, is vastly more important than my ability to preach or do the “tasks” of ministry. Not that preaching and other tasks of ministry are not important, they are, but they must grow out of being who God intends me to be.

In other words, my place in the church is one of being who God intends me to be in the community that is the local church. My “place” is that of a shepherd and teacher built on a foundation of being conformed to the image of Jesus Christ.

It seems simple enough, yet God is persistently working on conforming me to the image of Jesus Christ. I’m not a finished work. Sometimes the “working” is not as pleasant as I would like, but I am thankful for it. I find Paul’s words to Phillippians comforting and encouraging.  “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6).

Yes I will get to my post on lament, but for now another timely comment on life.

Those who know me reasonably well have probably heard me express my suspicion of the way the term “community” is often used in Christian circles–or at least my perception of how the term is used.

My concern is that community is often seen as being about relationship. (For those of you who think I have lost my mind here, please hear me out). The problem as I see it is that “relationship” is an abstract concept. Community, which is also an abstract concept, defined by another abstract concept such as “relationship” is  abstract to the point of meaninglessness.

If you have read my blog you will have picked up that I am very interested in the notion of “being.” In this context, I speak of concrete individuals in the church you are “being” who and what God has intended them to be.

Collectively, they form a local church, a microcosm of the Church. This concrete group of people who are “being” what God intended them to be forms a concrete community of particular people in particular relationships with one another, being what God intended them to be as a community.

“Being” what God intended us to be is founded upon Jesus Christ, the Son of God. There is nothing abstract about “being.” The nature of these relationships is not abstract, for it too is founded upon “being,” thus Jesus Christ. The nature of the specific community is not abstract, since it too is founded upon “being.”

It is this kind of “community” that you can enter into and experience the grace, love, mercy, kindness, wisdom, caring and wholeness of Jesus Christ. I have entered this kind of community.

I have come in as a “pastor” only to find that I am the one who is being ministered to. I have entered a community of “being.” It is both humbling and invigorating. It isn’t about me. It is about Christ in us. It isn’t about what I bring to the church. It is about me “being” who I am in Jesus Christ in communion with others who are “being” who they are in Jesus Christ.

Do I bring something? Yes, I bring what one man in Christ can bring.  Do I receive something? Yes, I receive what many men and women in Christ offer. That is the blessing of fellowship in Jesus Christ.

I have been working on a post on lament for a while, but that will wait for another day. This is not a lament, it is grieving a passage.

I sat out on the deck this afternoon to eat my lunch. It was one of those perfect, but rare summer days in southern Saskatchewan when the breeze was light, the sun warm, but not too hot. Scattered clouds drifting by, rising and falling in a cotton-ball ballet…at least for those who slow down to watch.

In a few weeks, assuming our plans come to pass, we will have left our home in Caronport in southern Saskatchewan for the city of Edmonton. City life is not unfamiliar to us. After all, we spent over 18 years in the Vancouver area.

We are going to pastor a delightful church. It is what I have spent the last four years preparing to do. It is where our hearts are. It is what we are called too. We are anxious to be there. We want to be there. It is, however, at a cost.

I will miss the quietness of the open, uncluttered prairie. As I sit in my office, I have the same view as from my deck. It is peaceful…at least when the weather is like this.

I will miss the resident flock of chickadees that congregate at my bird feeder. They are an interesting group. When ever I fill the feeder, soon one will appear. Finding it full, it will fly up to a high perch and call relentlessly until the rest of the flock appears like a biker club riding into town.

Then there are the sparrows, swallows, finches, and redpolls. Of course I will miss working in my office to song of the meadowlark, the master of the prairie aria. 

I will not miss being so exposed to the winter blizzards or the vulnerability of living in a mobile home when the summer skies unleash their fury, lightning dancing from angry clouds, rain and hail…not to mention the threat of tornadoes. I have reminded my self often that this mobile home has seen far more prairie storms than I and it is still here. Oh yeah, I wouldn’t miss the mud and pot holes masquerading as craters.

I will miss seeing the Northern Lights from my bed room window, un-encumbered by city lights. I will miss the quiet. I will miss this place we have called home for four years.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new chapter. We will leave behind some memories best forgotten and hopefully take with us those we ought not forget. There are many precious memories too that I trust will live on in our kids long after we are gone. For now, we go to make new memories.

I often just scan the foreword and other such preamble in books. Every so often, however, in my eye catches something. In this case it was George Barna’s foreword to Carson Pue’s Mentoring Leaders.[1]

In the Foreword, Barna writes, “There are three critical elements that make a book appealing to me…the messenger must be trustworthy…the message must be trustworthy…[and] the message must be helpful to the reader” (p. 9). At first glance it seemed reasonable, but as I reflected on it I began to question it.

On the first point,”the messenger must be trustworthy,” I have little to quibble with. After all, if I see a pharmacist reaching for a book on pharmacopoeia by Snake-oil Huckster Bob, I might be inclined to go somewhere else to get medication advice. Even here I must say that some shadow of doubt crosses my mind. On what basis do I determine the trustworthiness of the author?

On the second point, “the message must be trustworthy,” more questions are raised. Certainly if I am going to recommend a book to someone I want to be confident in the veracity of the message inked on the pages.  Barna, however, makes a statement here that makes me a little uncomfortable. “The information must fit the known facts” (p. 9).

I do agree with his premise in terms of the more obvious things. After all, I am unlikely to consider a message trustworthy if it suggests that the secret to long life is skydiving without a parachute. To be a little more esoteric, however, I am post modern enough to question the overarching validity of the statement.

I’ll keep my question here to the more obvious, how do I know what the “facts” are. Understand that I am concerned here with the epistemological question not the ontological question of truth. In other words, the question of how do I know, not is there something to know.

If I merely read that which reinforces what I already “know,” will I learn anything new?

On the third point, “the message must be helpful to the reader,” Barna adds,

Time is too short to waste on useless information or inapplicable theories. The message should therefore be timely, practical, and beneficial (p 9).

My artsy, non-utilitarian, “it isn’t just about function,” right brain leaning, moderately post modern brain starts spewing smoke and gears on this one. Would a painting be painted in a world that thought this way? What symphonies written or performed? While Barna was writing about selecting books to read, it reflects an attitude of modernity that troubles me (this may or may not reflect Barna’s philosophy in all matters).

Allowing me to put on my pastoral hat for a moment, with such an approach, would be ever read the Psalms, or–gasp–the Song of Solomon? Is there any room left for what we do not know? Is there any room left for experiencing that which has no timely, practical benefit, like a flower beside the path?

Did God create creation to be “timely, practical and beneficial”?

The topic of the theology of beauty came up in a recent conversation. I never did explain my theological understanding of beauty and I am not going to here, at least not today. I realized that there was another question I needed to grapple with first.

Since God created creation and said “it is good,” do I not place myself as judge over God if I judge what is good and what is not? Who am I to presume to judge God?

Consider the narrative of the temptation in the garden Genesis.

But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Gen. 3:4-5, esv). 

God said not to eat of a particular tree, yet we read in the next verse, 

So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate (Gen. 3:6, esv).

Did Eve judge what was good? Did Eve place herself in the position of judging God? God said no, but she judged the fruit to be good to eat.

If God is creator of all, then is He not the creator and definer of what is good and beautiful? Can we as created humans judge the beauty of the creative work of God? Is this not the same problem as in the garden?

So how do we recognize beauty? What is beauty? I’ll come back to this in a second post (maybe more). For now I will suggest that beauty can be understood, at least in part, in harmony with God’s intent for creation. More specifically, in submitting to God’s judgment of what is good.