Articles by Patrick D. Odum at Heartlight

Good without God?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 00:00:00 -0600

You, however, did not come to know Christ that way. Surely you heard of him and were taught in him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus. You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness (Ephesians 4:20-24 NIV).

Earlier this week, an organization called The Chicago Coalition of Reason put up a billboard at the corner of Grand and LaSalle Avenues in downtown Chicago that's generated some discussion and debate. The CoR is an atheist organization that promotes the idea that "humanists, agnostics and atheists are as normal as anyone else. We're your friends, neighbors and family members. We care about our communities and are true to our values."

Their billboard, which CoR members say is to "break the stereotype that atheists are evil and end the subtle discrimination that unfolds as a result." It reads: "Are you good without God? Millions are."

Well, frankly, I long ago gave up the notion that people who believe in God are necessarily nicer or better or more virtuous or more ethical than people who don't. People are good -- or not -- for a whole slew of reasons that may or may not have to do with faith in God. The question I have about atheists and morality is this: "Who tells us what 'good' is?" Is it enough to be true to our values if our values are mixed up?

Actually, though, that's a good question to ask folks who claim belief in God, too.

Are you good without God?

I think the billboard has a double meaning, and I want to look at both meanings. Are you good without God -- as in, "Are you OK without God? Do you need him to make your choices and live your life?" Christians, of course, would generally make the right noise about needing him. If you pinned a thousand self-identified Christians down, you might get five who'd say, "Actually, I can generally get by just fine without God, yes." We're conditioned to talk about faith and trust and depending on God's grace, and most of us can hit all the right notes.

But sometimes I think we live as though we're actually pretty good -- pretty OK -- without God. When we make our decisions based on what "seems OK" or "feels right," we're living as if God has nothing we need. When we know what's right and still choose to do what's wrong, we conduct ourselves as if our own conscience and value system are the true measures of character, integrity, and virtue. When we lean on our own talents, resources, and schemes to get what we think we want, we deny that there's any area of our lives in which we need his grace, wisdom, and strength. When we make our plans and carry them out without prayer and advice from other believers, we walk as if there's no one to lead us. When we live torn by doubt, worry, and fear, we choose to live as if we don't know the gracious Father in heaven who provides for our needs.

Paul reminds the followers of Jesus in Ephesus of what their lives had been like, so he can remind them of who they claim to be now. Their predicament was darkened understanding, hard hearts, separation from God, and an intensifying desire to do evil inversely proportionate to their declining sensitivity to the Holy Spirit. "Futility" is the word Paul uses to describe their lives.

"You, however, didn't come to know Christ that way," he reminds them. That's a good thing to say to ourselves sometimes, when our lives haven't been reflecting "the truth that is in Jesus." What we've come to faith in isn't a set of laws. We've come to believe in a person: a person who says that there are parts of our lives that have been soiled by sin and need to be taken off like a dirty shirt. A person who makes it possible for us to be renewed and put on a new life that more accurately reflects the righteousness and holiness of our God.

So that billboard provides me with a chance to look in the metaphorical mirror and ask myself if I'm carrying on as if I'm good without God. Or does my life reflect that I need him? Do I try to obey him, even when it's inconvenient? Does the amount of time I spend in prayer and with the Bible and with the church show that I'm living in dependence on him? Does my hope rest on earning potential or net worth or my particular set of talents or my work ethic, or in God and his generous providence?

"There is no one righteous, not even one," the Bible reminds us. So, no, none of us can be good without God. That's true for all of us, atheists and believers alike. The first lie the devil told human beings was, "You'll be like God, knowing good and evil." It is a lie, though, on two fronts. We usually can't see much beyond our own immediate benefit or disadvantage when trying to determine what's right and wrong. And on those rare occasions when we do come up with the right answer, it's at best even money if we'll follow through and actually do what we recognized as right.

And so God, in Christ, stepped in. In being faithful to death, he lived what was right. In his death and resurrection, he brought about redemption and forgiveness from our sins and victory over sin and death. And he poured out his Spirit, God present in us, to give us the wisdom to know right from wrong and the strength to live it.

So, no; I'm not good without God. I'm not in any way OK without him, and I can't be a person of integrity and virtue without his grace, wisdom, and guidance. We can all do some good deeds, make some good choices, be nice or generous or peace-loving, but in the end it will all come down to this: What we need is to be new. What we need is to be renewed, redeemed, reclaimed, rebuilt, refitted. What we need is what only God can give us, and has given us in Jesus.

Good without God? I'm barely tolerable with him.

Maybe I should put that on a billboard.

Patrick Odum lives in Chicago, Illinois, with his wife, Laura and son, Joshua. He is one of the ministers at Northwest Church of Christ, and an avid Heartlight fan. He enjoys writing and maintains a website of his work called Faith Web where you can find all of his articles. Email Patrick

Website: Faith Web

The Ig Nobel Awards

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 00:00:00 -0500

For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God's glory displayed in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us (2 Corinthians 4:6-7 TNIV).

You might have heard the winners of the Nobel prizes mentioned in recent weeks, but there were a series of awards given out recently that you probably missed. The "Ig Nobel Awards," given by a publication called, improbably enough, the "Annals of Improbable Research," honor the best of the year's research that cannot or should not be repeated.

At this year's awards in Boston, "Iggys" were given in economics to Icelandic bank executives "for showing how tiny banks can become huge banks, and then become tiny banks again." The peace prize went to researchers from the University of Bern for a paper entitled, "Are full or empty beer bottles sturdier and does their fracture-threshold suffice to break the human skull?" (Turns out that full or empty bottles will crack your noggin.) Other researchers were honored (?) for determining that cows who are called by name give more milk, for discovering that giant panda poop helps break down organic kitchen waste, for identifying the anatomical factors that prevent pregnant women from tipping over, and for developing a bra that converts into a gas mask. Well, two gas masks, actually.

Ignoble? Well, maybe. Unless you suddenly find yourself in need of a gas mask. Somebody has to study the "ignoble" stuff, right?

Judging from the Bible, God seems to be a big fan of the ignoble. A champion of the common. Lord of the lowborn.

It's a redneck shepherd boy, after all, who stands up to Goliath -- and with a sling, not armor and sword. When God wants to send his Son into the world, he comes as a helpless baby, with a feeding trough in a stable in a backwater town as his crib. His message speaks to the common people, and often alienates the VIP's. And when he rescues the people he loves, it isn't by raising an army or taking a throne. It's by giving his life as a despised and rejected criminal.

Moses parted the sea with a staff. A donkey chastised Balaam. Jesus fed 5,000 people with a little boy's picnic. You get the picture. God has a history of unexpected and unprecedented acts done with undistinguished people and seemingly insignificant things.

Seems that God can use regular people who seem to have little to commend them to do amazing things. A peasant couple in Nazareth receive an angelic visitation and, nine months later, a baby boy who is God With Us. Uneducated fishermen, an ethically questionable tax collector, a revolutionary, and assorted women make up his closest followers. But those followers go on to proclaim the good news and demonstrate the power of God's kingdom to officials, rulers, and kings all over the world.

When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and took note that these men had been with Jesus (Acts 4:13).

That's the response of some of those officials and rulers to the ordinary guys who spoke the name of Jesus to them. And, unwittingly, they stumbled on the reason. What makes ordinary people able to do extraordinary things? What transforms unremarkable circumstances into remarkable acts of God? What gives nobility to what the world considers ignoble?

"They ... took note that these men had been with Jesus."

Paul calls himself and his co-workers "jars of clay"; pots so literally earthy and common that archaeologists today find thousands of shards of them scattered over every dig from Asia to the Middle East to Africa to Europe. Clay jars were to Paul what plastic and Styrofoam containers are to us: functional and unremarkable.

But, God had hidden a treasure inside Paul and his clay-jar colleagues. He had shown them his face through Jesus, revealed to them who he is. His light shone in their hearts, and so they carried around in themselves the treasure of the gospel of Jesus. They were still clay jars: weak, fragile, yes, even ignoble. They could be cracked, broken, and even destroyed. No one would look at them and be impressed or awestruck. But because they were clay jars, God did remarkable things through them.

You might have expected that I'd say "in spite of the fact that they were clay jars," or something like that. But Paul doesn't say that. Paul reminds us that the ordinary-ness of the messengers witnesses to the extraordinary-ness of the message. In using the ignoble, Paul points out, God demonstrates incontrovertibly that the power of the gospel is in him. It's not in the persuasiveness or faith or piety or courage of the container. It's in the glory and power and grace of God as poured out in Jesus Christ.

I wouldn't be surprised if you were a pretty ordinary person living a pretty ordinary life. Oh, I'm sure you have your moments, but I imagine that a fair amount of the time you worry about your weaknesses and stress over your shortcomings. I'm guessing that you see yourself as pretty average, and your life as unremarkable at best and mundane at worst. And I'm pretty sure that, given the choice, you'd say that you consider yourself more ignoble than noble.

Congratulations. You're in good company. People like you are just the kind of people God loves to use to do his work in the world. Really, when an ordinary person confounds the world's values and assumptions by showing extraordinary faith or courage, or sacrificing to show love to someone else, or speaking unexpected words of good news at just the right time, then God is glorified. It's clear that he's at work in that ordinary life.

Stay with Jesus. Stay close to him, follow him, do what he does, and listen to what he says. His Spirit lives in you, and the treasure of the gospel glitters through the cracks that every clay jar has in it. He'll do remarkable things with you, but that's his business, and he'll do it in his own time and in his own ways. As you take care of your family, or do your job, or shop for groceries, or go to school, or serve in your community, or worship in your church, he'll do his work. Your business is staying close, doing the things he did and speaking the words he spoke.

People will still notice.

And God will be glorified.

Website: Faith Web

Gratitude that Costs Us Something

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 00:00:00 -0500

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (Colossians 3:15-17 TNIV).

Earlier this month, 22 people got off a train at London's Liverpool Street station. The only unusual thing you'd have noticed about the group was its age: all of them were in their 70's and 80's, looking like they were on a retirement home field trip. And in fact it was a field trip, of a sort. But not a pleasure trip, not really. More like a pilgrimage.

The last time they made the trip -- from Prague -- was seventy years earlier. Back then they had been Jewish children, 669 of them, whose parents had lost jobs and homes to the Nazis. Their parents had packed them off to new homes in London, hoping to join them later. None did, though. The concentration camps saw to that.

But those children got the chance to survive. They grew up and had children and grandchildren and even great-grandchildren of their own. But they never forgot what could have been, or that they had been saved from their parents' fate. Seventy years later, 22 of those 669 made the trip again to remember.

More than to just remember, though. The man who met them on the platform at Liverpool Street this time was the same one who met them seventy years ago. His name is Sir Nicholas Winston, although seventy years ago he wasn't Sir Nicholas. He was a stockbroker in London in 1939, when a friend in Prague told him about the Nazi occupiers taking away the jobs and homes of Jews in the city. Nicholas began to raise money, begged the British government for visas, forged papers, and found British families willing to adopt children. Then, when he had everything in order, he chartered the trains that saved those 669 children from being murdered in the camps. He met them the day they arrived. And he met them again, seventy years later. He's a hundred years old now, but he leaned on his cane and shook hands with each of those 22 grateful people and received their thanks.

They told him about their children and grandchildren. There are, they say, 7,000 descendants of the children Nicholas Winston saved all over the world. Seven thousand people who know the story of how a London stockbroker saved their parents, their grandparents, their great-grandparents.

With typically English reserve, Nicholas seemed to enjoy being there. "The trouble 70 years ago was getting them together with the people who were going to look after them," he said. "I've got no responsibility this time."

No, those 22 people were there because they had a responsibility. They were there because they felt the need to give their thanks to the man who had saved them.

There's something fundamental about gratitude. Something basic. That's why we teach our kids to say "thank you" and make them write thank-you notes when someone gives them a gift. It's hardwired into us, I think, that it's only right to be grateful when someone does something for us. But just because it's hardwired into us doesn't mean that we always remember. Though God may have created us with the capacity for being grateful, the damage sin does in us includes turning us inward. The consequence is a self-centeredness that tends to notice only what we don't have while forgetting the blessings we've been given. The result is that we become unable to be grateful.

That's why gratitude is a theme that the Bible returns to again and again. "Be thankful," Paul tells the church in Colosse, and then two verses later says, "whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."

There are basic spiritual sicknesses for which gratitude is really the only existing remedy. Selfishness. Bitterness. Hate. Greed. Lust. All of these have a common cause: obsession with ourselves and what we perceive to be lacking in our lives. Gratitude, however, calls our attention to what we have, and to how much of it has been given to us by God for no other reason than that he loves us. When we're thankful, our attention is on him and what he has blessed us with.

Sometimes, though, gratitude is a lot of trouble. Twenty-two people taking a train across Europe? Wouldn't it have been more efficient for everyone to write a note? Send a gift? Well of course it would have been. But then, efficiency isn't the point, is it? The point is gratitude. And unless gratitude costs you something -- a little inconvenience, at the very least -- well, it's just not much, is it? You can talk about how thankful you are, but gratitude is one of those inward attitudes -- like love and faith and hope -- that aren't real unless they bring about a difference in the way we live and the things we value.

That's why God told the Israelites to give thank offerings -- not because he needed their cattle and goats, but because they needed to express gratitude that cost them something. And you don't think, do you, that just because we're not Israelites we're somehow exempt from gratitude that costs us something? You don't really think, do you, that we who have heard the good news of Jesus, who have been saved from death by his sacrifice, have only to nod and wink and say, "Thanks, God?"

That's what worship is, of course: gratitude that costs us something. It's an indicator of how far we've drifted that to us "worship" is to be evaluated by how it makes us feel:

I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God." That, Paul told the Christians in Rome, is "true worship (Romans 12: 1).

Our calling is to offer ourselves -- our energy, our priorities, our possessions, our passions -- as a thank offering to the God who has shown such mercy to us.

What do you think our children and grandchildren will remember about us? My prayer is that my son, and his children, will remember me as someone who was saved by God's grace through Jesus and who lived a life of thanksgiving. I want them to remember me as someone who had gratitude in his heart, and who did everything he did as an expression of thanks to God. Not so they'll speak well of me, but so they'll remember the God whose grace for which I was so thankful.

Website: Faith Web

Faces in the Crowd

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 00:00:00 -0500

A large crowd followed and pressed around him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed." Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering.

At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"

"You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, 'Who touched me?'"

But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering." (Mark 5:24-34)

I'd love to know more about this woman, wouldn't you -- this woman who was so desperate to be healthy that she was willing to defy social conventions and religious laws? For twelve years, she had lived with the bleeding. If it's the kind of bleeding it seems to be, then she had lived as well with the pronouncement of the Law that she was "unclean" (Leviticus 15:25-27). After so long, surely she had resigned herself to never being well, never joining in the joyful processions to the Temple for the festivals, never being a fully-participating part of the community. And, depending on how scrupulous her husband, family, and friends might have been, she might have resigned herself to missing much more than that. For at least some of the people around her, I imagine, any physical contact would have been out of the question.

So it's a true indicator of her desperation -- and I think of her alienation from people around her -- that she slips through the crowd to try and touch Jesus unnoticed. There's no raising of the voice from her, like the leper or the blind man who cried out to Jesus for healing. She doesn't even come and kneel respectfully, like the synagogue leader who got to Jesus just before she did. "If I can just touch his cloak, I'll be healed," she reasons.

She's quiet. Easy to overlook. She's OK with that, because that's just the way she wants it. If she can just "accidentally" brush against him in the crowd, then no one's the wiser. There will be no embarrassing confrontation, where she has to say publicly what's wrong with her and receive the censure and self-righteousness of her peers. If she can just brush against him in the press of the mob, she can go away well and no one will ever have to know why.

I wonder how many people in our world are like her. Sick, but quiet and overlooked. Unable to bear the cost of getting well, but unwilling to let anyone know. I wonder how many can relate to the words of Mark: "She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse." Seniors, who have to choose which prescriptions to refill, if any. Kids, whose parents can't get them treatment for common childhood ailments that most of us never have to think about. Parents and grandparents who won't see their kids or grandkids grow up because they can't be screened for colon cancer or heart disease or high blood pressure. Young adults whose life span is shortened because they can't afford treatment for health problems that will only worsen over time.

Health care, of course, is the political issue of the moment, and however you paint it, it comes down to this one issue: What does a society that thinks of itself as moral and ethical do with people like that woman in that crowd? What do we do when there are people among us who are sick, but quiet and overlooked? Whatever we think of the President's plan, whatever we might think about the government's role in health care, we can't lose sight of the real issue. It's not about which political party looks better. It's not about our personal opinion of our President. It's about what we do as a people with folks who are lost in the crowd and left without access to the kind of care many of us take for granted.

Whatever our opinions and positions in the current health care debate, there's one opinion, one position, that is untenable for people who claim to follow Jesus. It's never correct for the church to say, implicitly or explicitly, "I've got mine -- let them figure out a way to get theirs." As a Christian, if we don't want the government involved in health care, then our next statement has to be, "What can I do, what can the church do, for people who are lost in the crowd, unable to care for themselves and unable to make their voices heard?"

I'm so certain about that -- and I believe you are, too -- because we know what happened when that poor, sick, desperate woman reached out a hand in that crowd and touched Jesus. She found healing. And Jesus, not willing to let her remain anonymous, commended her faith and sent her away in peace. It seems like those closest to him never noticed her. Jesus could have ignored her, too. He could have suggested that she needed to work harder so that she could afford better health care. He could have questioned whether she even belonged in the country. But he healed her. He commended her faith. And he sent her away in peace.

And so I believe that Jesus' church should be the champions of those, like that woman, who reach out their hands in desperation and hope and faith, believing that God will take notice and heal them and their families. If not through supporting legislative reform of the existing system, then through individual efforts to facilitate access to existing resources. Only Jesus heals. But, the Lord's people can help to make sure that reaching hands can come in contact with the hem of his garment.

I know -- that doesn't seem like the church's work. But it is. It was for sure Jesus' work (Matthew 4:23; Matthew 9:35). Jesus didn't require that woman to be baptized first. He didn't make her listen to a sermon or volunteer in his ministry or straighten out her life. He didn't have to. When she reached out her hand in faith and found healing, oh my, she would have followed him anywhere.

People still will, when they reach out and find Jesus' people there to help. They'll follow him anywhere.

Whatever you think about the health care debate, don't ignore those reaching hands.

Website: Faith Web

Action!

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 00:00:00 -0500

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if people claim to have faith but have no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

But someone will say, "You have faith; I have deeds."

Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do. (James 2:14-18 TNIV)

On a tour of one of the movie studios during our family's trip to Los Angeles last week, we visited some of the backlot sets. There was a city street backlot. An Old West backlot. A Europe backlot. And old Mexico. One of the things we learned was that most of the buildings in the backlot are just for show. If you walk through the front door, well, that's about all there is. These sets, called facades, run no more than about five feet deep. They're just made to be seen, made to be photographed, but there's nothing behind the facade. If you want to shoot an interior shot, you have to put the actors in a sound stage or another building.

The other kind of sets on the backlot, as you may have guessed, is completely built out. They're real buildings, as opposed to facades. You can shoot a scene on the outside of the building, or you can use the inside too. The name for these kinds of sets makes perfect sense: they're called practical sets. Practical, because you can use them. You can follow an actor through the front door; move a scene from exterior to interior without editing.

One other thing I learned: it's tough to tell facades from practical sets from the outside. Facades are made to fool you, after all. They're intended to convince you that they actually are brownstones or saloons or hotels. At first glance, you might be convinced that a facade is a practical set.

But look inside, and the difference is obvious.

For several hundred years, Christians have struggled to come to terms with how verses in the Bible tell us that we're saved by faith and not by works reconcile with verses that tell us that we're saved by what we do, and not faith alone. There are texts, after all, that say both of those things. And it's fair to ask how both can be true, and it's understandable that we might think one contradicted the other. But like a lot of deep theological mysteries, this one dissipates with an application of common sense and a dose of experience. And, as it happens, a trip to a Hollywood backlot.

You know there are people, whether you know any of them personally or not, whose faith is a facade. There's an exterior that might fool someone at first glance. Maybe it's a carefully-maintained exterior, even, that can withstand more than a cursory glance. They're known for their piety. Respected and admired in their churches. Maybe they're leaders in their churches, even: people who others follow and emulate. They say things that give the impression of a deep relationship with God. They know the Bible. They're fluent in "churchy" vocabulary. But get to know them, and you see that their faith doesn't go five feet deep. You find that there's nothing behind the facade.

You also know people, and I bet you know some personally, whose faith is genuine. Oh, you can see it from the outside too, just like the "facade" Christians. But in their case, there's something behind the exterior. Their faith isn't strictly to be seen from the outside. You're welcome to open the windows, walk through the doors, and see what's behind it all. Maybe their piety is known and respected as well, maybe they're fluent in "churchy" vocabulary as well, but their faith is about more than those things. It's a faith that shows itself in their office as well as in their church. It's a faith that's comfortable serving the poor as well as saying important things in a Bible class. They might know the Bible, and they certainly know it well enough to know that "facade" faith isn't really faith at all. They know -- and they model -- that real faith is practical.

Because that's really the difference, isn't it? That's how we know whether our faith is genuine or not. "What good is it ... if people claim to have faith but have no deeds? Can such faith save them?" That may sound a little harsh, a little intolerant, but I think James just means to point out something that deep down we all know. Real faith, real trust in God, always creates action. In response to God's love and grace, people act.

Look at the stories in the Bible of the people who trusted God, and you see that it's true. Abraham, Moses, David, Jeremiah. Daniel, Esther, Nehemiah. Rahab, Joshua, Noah. These were people of action, because they had faith that as long as they trusted God the things they did were not in vain.

You can also look at a lot of those folks and see that they didn't always make the right choices. God doesn't ask us for flawless judgment, and he recognizes that none of us are immune to temptation, and he knows our limits. All he asks is that we trust him -- have faith in him -- and he promises that he'll watch over us and protect us and redeem us and save us.

But real faith always -- always -- is practical.

I think it's great that the Bible doesn't ask us to judge each others' faith. That's because the only faith I'm truly able to evaluate is my own. And the best way I know to do that is to ask myself one question: "Is my faith practical?" Is there anything behind the facade? Will my faith contain the work God wants me to do? Does it tell the story of his grace in my life? Does it bring about action? Or is it just for show -- a false front I wear to play a part for those who might be looking on?

If honest evaluation tells me that there's not much action in my faith, then it's time to make a change. It's time to serve. To work. To act in God's name. It's time to put some depth in my faith, add some practical to my facade. To rest secure in God's love -- not because of the things I've done, but through genuine trust in his grace.

Website: Faith Web

Cancelled Debt

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 00:00:00 -0500

Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand bags of gold was brought to him. Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.

The servant fell on his knees before him. "Be patient with me," he begged, "and I will pay back everything." The servant's master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go (Mathew 18:23-27 TNIV).

Cigarette prices in New Hampshire have really gotten out of hand, if Josh Muszynski's experience is any indication.

Josh swiped his debit card at a gas station recently to pay for a pack. When he checked his account balance online a few hours later, he was shocked to see just how much of an expense his habit had become. There in his account was a debit for $23,148,855,308,184,500.00.

That's twenty-three quadrillion, one hundred forty-eight trillion, eight hundred fifty-five billion, three hundred eight million, one hundred eighty-four thousand, five hundred dollars, if you're scoring at home. To put it in perspective, well ... you can't really put that in perspective. Bill Gates, J.K. Rowling, and the Queen of England couldn't go in together and buy cigarettes at that price. All the nations of the UN combined couldn't afford them. You'd need, if I'm doing my math correctly, more than twenty-three thousand people with $1 billion each to buy that pack of cigarettes.

Remember the good old days when cigarettes would only run you three quadrillion?

Needless to say, Josh called his bank and, after a couple of hours on the phone, managed to clear things up. His bank corrected the error the next day, and even removed the $15 overdraft fee they charged him. I think that's my favorite part of the story: you overdraw your account to the tune of 23 quadrillion dollars, and all the bank does is charge you a $15 penalty.

Imagine for a minute how you'd feel if you looked at your bank balance and saw 17 digits in the debit column. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm safe in saying that few of us can get our minds around 23 quadrillion dollars. And paying it off? Forget it, no chance. Not in this lifetime. Not in a hundred lifetimes. All Josh could do was hope that the bank would see the problem and forgive his debt. Of course, he had reason to hope. He didn't really owe that much money. It was obviously a mistake, and the bank straightened it out quickly and easily.

Would that all our debts were that easy to take care of.

Forgiveness in real life, though, is a little bit harder. How do you forgive the harm done by an abusive teacher, for instance? Or a cheating spouse? How do you forgive wrongs committed by an envious colleague or a bitter friend? How do you forgive a thieving employee, or the drunk driver that killed your friends' child? And should you? Or does forgiveness imply that actions that are hurtful, sometimes horrifically so, aren't that big a deal after all?

"How many times shall I forgive someone who sins against me," Peter once asked Jesus. "Up to seven times?" Peter probably felt like he was being pretty magnanimous to offer seven times; after all, if someone continues to hurt you, over and over, they probably aren't worthy of forgiveness.

You can probably relate to Peter's question. Usually, a question like that isn't hypothetical. It might sound something like this, for you: "Lord, do I really have to forgive this person who continually abuses and belittles me?" Or maybe it's more a question of whether an injury could be so severe that forgiveness isn't even an option. It's a very honest question, isn't it? And Jesus doesn't directly rebuke Peter for asking it. He tells him a story instead to show that, honest or not, asking "how often" and "how much" in relation to forgiveness are the wrong questions to ask.

"It's like this in God's kingdom," Jesus explains. He tells about a king who got out his ledgers to settle his accounts, and noticed that one of his debtors owed "ten thousand talents" -- of gold, probably. A talent was a unit of weight, and an average wage-earner could expect to make the equivalent of one talent in about twenty years of work. Ten thousand talents is a ridiculous amount, an individual debt that no one could possibly accumulate. He owes this king something like twenty-three quadrillion dollars.

Well, the king demands repayment, or as close to repayment as is possible: everything he has will be sold, and his family sold into slavery. The debtor begs, pleads, and makes silly promises about repaying this ridiculous amount. But the king, Jesus says, took pity on the man and cancelled the debt. No payment plan. No bankruptcy proceeding. The king just crosses out that line on his ledger, and the man is freed from his debt entirely.

Jesus tells the story, of course, to say something about God and how his kingdom runs. The parable reminds us that God chooses forgiveness over strict accounting. It reminds us that, in spite of the staggering deficit our sins put us in relation to God -- a deficit that, unlike Josh, we actually owe -- God chooses to blot that debt out of his ledger. And it reminds us to be thankful that God chooses to do so, because there's truly no way for us to pay the debt ourselves.

What Peter wouldn't have known then -- but likely remembered later -- is that God brings about this forgiveness through Jesus. Jesus, in effect, pays the debt that we owe. Much later, he'd reflect on this by writing that we have all been "redeemed" by "the precious blood of Christ" (1 Peter 1:18-19). When Jesus prayed on the cross for the Father to forgive those who had put him there, the Father answered that prayer through Jesus' suffering. Our debt has been forgiven, but it was neither quick nor easy. It was the result of God's compassion for us, as shown through Jesus.

Of course, you might remember that the parable doesn't end there. The forgiven debtor loses his forgiveness just as quickly as he received it. Remember why? Sure you do. Because he wouldn't forgive his debtor, another servant who owed him a comparatively small amount. When the king hears about this servant's lack of mercy, he isn't happy. "Shouldn't you have had mercy ... just as I had on you?" he asks. And he sends him to prison, where he'll be worked and, apparently, tortured until he can pay back the original debt.

"This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive a brother or sister from the heart" (Matthew 18:35).

Tough to hear, but it's fitting, isn't it? If we who have received God's extravagant mercy can't find a way to at least begin to offer forgiveness to our fellow servants, then we deserve to fall under his judgment, don't we? God looks for reasons to forgive -- not condemn, so he knows when forgiveness is maybe just a little slow to come while we work out the hurt we've received. That's not what Jesus is talking about here. He's talking about a willful holding on to bitterness. But despite the harsh ending, the parable's full of hope: there is forgiveness from God for the worst of our debts; and in receiving that forgiveness, we must find the way to extend it to those in debt to us.

So receive God's forgiveness. Know that you'll never pay off or work off what you owe, and instead just accept his gracious forgiveness offered to you in Jesus Christ. And then spread a little of that forgiveness around to those who are in your debt. How can you not, knowing how much God has forgiven you?

A 23 quadrillion dollar debt. Up in smoke. Sound familiar?

Website: Faith Web

No Minister?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 05 May 2009 00:00:00 -0500

[Editor's Note: Heartlight.org sees its mission as providing resources for those trying to live for Jesus. We know that many are not part of a traditional church with a building or "professional" ministry staff. In addition to our articles, devotionals, graphics, and Bible study tools (see links below), we are launching an online resource called http://homegathering.net. This article helps us launch this resource and we will be looking to you for ideas on what resources we can provide.]

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms (1 Peter 4:10 TNIV).

My college roommate's father wrote an article published in The Christian Chronicle a few months ago that I truly appreciated and completely agreed with.

And I really hated that I did.

The article was titled, "No Minister? Look to God and Members Instead." The author, David May, is a member of a small church in Minnesota. His church doesn't have a "minister" -- or a preacher, or a pastor, or whatever appellation for clergy you can imagine. They don't have anyone on staff to do "church work" like preaching, evangelizing, hospital visitation, and so on. They don't even have anyone to write bulletin articles. And, no, it doesn't seem like this is a temporary condition from which they're hoping and praying to be soon delivered. They don't seem to be looking for anyone, or trying to find funding for the position. They seem to have chosen, at least for the foreseeable future, to get along without "a minister."

I know. "How are they surviving?" I asked myself. "How are they getting by without someone who has some knowledge of the Synoptic Problem or the Documentary Hypothesis or the debate about Openness Theology? How can they possibly hope to survive, let alone grow, without someone who knows how to properly construct a sermon?" Believe me, I'm as astonished as you are, but ...

Well, they seem to be doing just fine, thank you.

I guess that's because when I say they don't have a minister, I mean that they don't have someone who they pay to be The Minister. It turns out that they actually seem to a whole bunch of ministers, a whole church full of them, in fact. "People step up and do what is necessary when the responsibility is theirs," he says. "When there is a located preacher the temptation in our busy world is to hope the preacher will get it done." He goes on:

[Without a minister,] if someone is going to give a devotional talk on Sunday morning, it will be a member. If anyone is to sit with a woman while her husband has surgery, it will be a member. If a visitor is to be invited to lunch and offered an ear and a prayer, it will come from a member. If we are going to reach out to the community around us, the leadership will come from the members.

Really, Mr. May (that's what I've always called him). You're going to mess up a good thing for me.

To be fair, Mr. May doesn't say that churches who have ministers should get rid of them. In fact, he says that churches should treat their ministers well. (Another thing I like about the article.) And I do think, as non-objective as I am about the matter, that a paid minister who loves the Lord and the church and works hard can be a blessing. Paul seemed to think so, too: he reminded one church that it's right for those who "sow spiritual seed" to "reap a material harvest" (1 Corinthians 9:7-12). Mr. May's article, though, does make me think about whether the whole idea of a professional clergy as we know it today might just be pretty far from the biblical understanding of who the church is and what it is we're supposed to be doing.

In the Bible, God's grace isn't all about forgiveness of sins. That's part of it, of course, but God gives us much more than just mercy for when we mess up. The Bible speaks of God's grace in terms of the abilities he gives to people, as well. That's something we need to rediscover in the church, I think: as recipients of God's grace, we have received not only pardon for our sins, but also abilities and opportunities to share God's love and blessings with the people around us.

Some can preach, and Peter reminds the church he writes that they should do so with words God gives them. Some can provide service and assistance, and he tells them that they should do it with the strength that God gives them (1 Peter 4:10-11). And some have business acumen, or skill in trades, or culinary skill, or medical knowledge, or IT expertise. These are all expressions of God's grace, given in the form of talent, interest, education, and so on (Romans 12:3-8). And the health of the church, like the health of any organism, requires that every part does what it's there to do (Ephesians 4:11-16).

That's the very thing, of course, that the professionalization of ministry can prevent. The minister, or whatever you want to call him, can too easily become the paid ministerial proxy for the rest of the congregation. He does the ministry; the rest of the church shows up on Sunday to worship, then goes back to their busy lives. Sometimes church members like it that way. Sometimes, truth be told, so do the "professional" ministers. Churches can grow pretty big that way, especially if they can afford to pay salaries for a lot of ministers. But they don't grow very healthy. "We mature much faster by figuring out what needs to be done and doing it than we ever would by hearing it described from the pulpit," Mr. May writes. "If every member takes responsibility, the church will grow stronger."

Imagine a church where members, who carry a burden for visiting the sick on their hearts, are at hospitals weekly or daily. Where those who are skilled administrators, keep things running efficiently and smoothly, streamlining the church's ministry. Imagine a church where those skilled at carpentry or plumbing or electrical are caring for the building -- and for the homes of other members and those in the church's neighborhood. Imagine a church where people who can work with troubled teenagers are encouraged and empowered to do so, or where people with musical ability can exercise their talents, or where painters and writers and other artists can work for the glory of God with their media. Imagine, even, a church where those who can speak well in public are encouraged to preach.

Imagine a church where professional ministers are no different than everyone else, except that they're freed up to devote more of their time and energy to "church work." And imagine a church where everyone takes seriously their responsibilities as ministers, empowered by God's grace to do "church work" wherever they find themselves.

I'm not looking for a new line of work. Really. But I am looking for a church like that.

Aren't you?

Website: Faith Web