Articles by Patrick D. Odum at Heartlight

Excavation

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Fri, 02 May 2008 00:00:00 -0500

If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it (Genesis 4:7 NIV).

The brand new Yankee Stadium, currently under construction in the Bronx, is a multi-million dollar project. With deadlines looming and costs mounting, you know that it would take a serious problem for workers to show up on a weekend to jackhammer newly-poured concrete. However, that's exactly what happened on April 13th. Workers showed up to break apart two-and-a-half feet of concrete on what will eventually be a concourse.

Structural problems? Not really. More like sabotage. By terrorists? Well, that would depend on who you ask, I suppose. The culprit, actually, is a construction worker from the Bronx named Gino Castignoli, who only worked one day on the project. But, that one day could have had serious consequences for the Yankees franchise, its fans, and the entire city of New York. Yankees president Randy Levine called Castignoli's offense a "bad, dastardly act," and the Yankees are discussing with the District Attorney the possibility of bringing charges against him.

No, he didn't use sub-standard material, or rig the part of the stadium he worked on to collapse.

He buried a David Ortiz Boston Red Sox jersey in the concrete he laid.

The Red Sox and Yankees are, of course, divisional rivals. Their animosity goes back at least as far as 1918, when the Sox traded a young pitcher named Babe Ruth to the Yankees. The trade, so the legend goes, cursed the Red Sox, who didn't win another World Series until 2004. The two teams' -- and their fans' -- hatred of each other is arguably the most intense in sports. Rarely does a season go by in which at least one Yankees -- Red Sox game isn't interrupted by a brawl. Castignoli, a Red Sox fan who literally lives in the Yankees' neighborhood, apparently hoped that burying the jersey in the stadium would "curse" the Yankees' new home.

Two other workers -- Yankee loyalists, I guess -- ratted Castignoli out.

It's a measure of how seriously the Yankees take the rivalry that they would take the time and expense to dig the jersey out. I mean, what, a couple of square feet of polyester and cotton twill? What harm could it possibly do to a gigantic concrete and steel stadium? Still, the Yankees preferred to take no chances, and out came the jackhammers. Best to dig it out now so there's no chance of regretting it later.

Maybe that's a good attitude for us all to adopt toward the stuff that we might have buried in our lives where it doesn't belong.

"Sin" is the term that the Bible uses for that kind of thing. It really seems like sort of an old-fashioned word, doesn't it -- more appropriate for the "black or white" revival circuit than for life in today's more complicated, "shades-of-grey" world? We prefer to speak of "mistakes" or "weaknesses" or "character flaws" or "addictions," and those terms can all be helpful. The problem is that those are usually after-the-fact words that we use for the stuff that we might have had buried in our lives for a long, long time, before they come to light. I mean, we usually live with anger management problems for years before a broken marriage or family or friendship forces us to speak of the problem. Lust can lie buried beneath layers of respectability for a long time before adultery or other sexual immorality exposes it. Selfishness and greed can stay undisturbed for much of our lives, and leave us absolutely puzzled about why giving doesn't bring us any joy or why what we attain is never enough to satisfy us.

Genesis says that long before Cain raised his hand against his brother Abel, sin was "crouching at [his] door." His jealousy, his anger, and his callous disregard for his own "flesh and blood" lay buried and untouched deep in his heart before it came spewing out in homicidal rage. Like most of us will do if left to ourselves, Cain tried to shift the blame for his actions; he wasn't treated fairly, God didn't appreciate him, and so on and so on. Not so different, really, from the layers of blame and bitterness that cover our own sins.

If only my spouse appreciated me more.

If only my boss wasn't such a jerk.

If only life would deal me a fair hand.

If only my parents had been more loving or accepting.

So we walk around angry, faces downcast, so focused on our hurt or anger or disappointment that we fail to deal with the real problem: down deep in our hearts lurks sin, waiting, biding its time, a curse waiting to happen.

The good news, of course, is that it doesn't have to be that way.

The gospel proclaims that we have a Father in heaven who loves us, who sent his Son to die for our sins, and raised him to pour out his Spirit into our lives and hearts. "His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness ..." That's the overwhelming claim the apostle Peter makes in reflecting back on Jesus' life and work (2 Peter 1:3-4).

Peter goes on to say that through Jesus, God "has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires." In short, Peter reminds us that in Christ God has given us the awareness and the power to do some excavation: the integrity to be honest about what is buried in our hearts and the tools to dig it out. "Make every effort to confirm your calling and election sure ..." he exhorts us (2 Peter 1:10), reminding us that while God supplies the energy and the opportunity for us to confront the sin in our lives, it's up to us to be willing to make the hard choices and do the difficult excavation that God's calling demands of us.

Among other things, that means that we have to be honest about the sin that still lurks in our hearts and crouches at our doorstep. Our churches must be places where confession is encouraged and repentance truly celebrated. We must have relationships of mutual accountability in which hypocrisy is exposed and we call each other to godliness and righteousness. And we must always be willing to let the jackhammer of the gospel chip away at our pride, arrogance, and pretense so that God can get at the sin that still lies underneath. In Christ, the curse is counteracted. But, it won't make a bit of difference if we can't let the sin buried in our hearts be exposed to his light and life and healing.

Take a deep breath. Time for some excavation.

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.

Website: Faith Web

Content with the Patriots

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 00:00:00 -0500

But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. (1 Timothy 6:6-8 TNIV).

Hundreds of poor children in Nicaragua are wearing new shirts and caps, thanks to the relief organization World Vision and the National Football League. The shirts and caps, donated by the NFL and brought to the southern Nicaraguan city of Diriamba, commemorate the 2008 Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots.

Wait. What?

In case you aren't a football fan, the heavily-favored Patriots actually lost the Super Bowl to the New York Giants -- in the process ruining the first perfect season in the NFL in 35 years or so. But, did you ever wonder how championship teams get their shirts and caps to put on while they're still celebrating on the field or court? Well, the answer is that the companies who make the clothing crank out versions with both teams as winners so they can start selling their product by getting them on the players while they're still on TV. However, that leaves a lot of shirts and hats that celebrate the wrong team's victory; so some years ago, World Relief started taking those shirts to the poor in nations in Latin America and Africa. Better that than to destroy them, which was what happened before World Relief got involved.

I suppose that for some folks, what team logo is on their shirts just doesn't make a blip on their radar screens.

Sometimes I wish that this was a world where everyone had the luxury of worrying about what logos or labels were on their clothing. Sometimes I wish that it was a world where everyone could be discriminating about what they eat. Sometimes I wish that everyone could choose to live in the best neighborhoods, go to the best schools, and drive the best cars. If we all had the privilege of being finicky, that would mean that everyone had plenty and no one went without.

Maybe kids in Nicaragua ought to care that their t-shirts and caps have the wrong Super Bowl champ on them.

But there are hundreds, thousands, who don't. Millions in our world who wouldn't. Millions who couldn't care less what neighborhood they live in, as long as they have a place to live. Millions of parents who would love for their kids to go to a school, a real school, somewhere, so that they could learn and grow and stretch and have a chance to escape poverty and hopelessness. Millions who would give anything, anything, if they could give their kids three meals a day, or even just one, but instead have to watch their children grow weak and malnourished.

And what do those millions do? They go on about their lives, they do what they can, and perhaps by some miracle they get through the day able to find life's absolute necessities for themselves and their families. And if they can do that for that one day, then they're content. More than content. Ecstatic.

When was the last time you opened your closet and thanked God from your heart that it was full of clothes? Or do we more often worry about having "nothing to wear" -- meaning by that, of course, nothing that makes us look 10 years younger and 10 pounds lighter. When was the last time you opened the refrigerator or the cabinet and praised God that it was full of food? Or walked into a supermarket and thanked him for the abundance you enjoy and the means to buy it? Or are we more likely to complain about leftovers again, or because something isn't prepared just how we like it, or because we have to make another trip to the store?

"Godliness with contentment ..." They go together. An important reminder, in a society where so many of us could, if we chose, enjoy the luxury of being particular. "We brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it ..." the Bible reminds us, probably because we can easily lose track of what life is all about.

Why do we have that compulsion to accumulate more and more? Why do we give in to it? After all, it isn't like we can take what we accumulate with us when our lives here are done. Obvious, of course, but it sort of opens our eyes to the farcical nature of our drive to acquire. The more we accumulate in this world, the more we leave behind when we go on to the next.

As long as there are people doing without the basic necessities of life in our world, godliness demands contentment and gratitude of us. It demands that we praise God for all the good things that he gives us, and it demands that we learn to say "no" to that voice inside that continually demands more, and better, and to eventually choke it down. If we have learned the habit of avarice, godliness demands repentance. And if we have been blinded and deafened by our plenty to the crushing needs of so many around us, godliness demands that we open our eyes and ears.

The fact is that there are just too many people in our world without the basic essentials of life. For a few of us in one of the most prosperous countries on the planet, how can we be anything but content? We must be content, because discontent dishonors the God who has given us so much. And beyond that, we must be content because greed leads us to spend our lives enriching ourselves while ignoring the predicament of people who really know what want is. When we're content, we see how much we have and are willing to help those who have less. When we're not, all we can see is what we want and feel so sure that we need.

Is it me, or is there something just vaguely embarrassing about the excitement with which the rest of the world accepts what America throws away? What if, instead of our cast-offs and hand-me-downs, the church committed to generosity that was a bit more sacrificial? What do you think pleases the Lord more: a church full of well-dressed, well-groomed, people in new clothes and new cars? Or a church full of people -- content with what they have been given -- who have put off buying new clothes and new cars so that they can share their abundance with folks who don't have the essentials?

I think I know the answer to that, and I think you do, too.

Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life (1 Timothy 6:17-19).

Website: Faith Web

Worship in the Microsoft Age

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 00:00:00 -0500

"Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, ... God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth" (John 4:23-24 NIV).

I wouldn't go to a theologian for advice on, say, managing a computer network. For the same reasons, I don't necessarily take at face value anything a computer guru would say about religion. I wouldn't necessarily dismiss it, though, and that's why I've been thinking for the last couple of days about a quote attributed to Bill Gates, one of the founders of Microsoft and the "information age." I'm not sure of the context, or why he was commenting on religion in the first place, but he said something pretty interesting: "Just in terms of allocation of time resources, religion is not very efficient. There's a lot more I could be doing on a Sunday morning."

Hmmm.

I have no idea whether or not Bill Gates goes to church. For all I know, right after he said that, he said something along the lines of, "But I go anyway because I think it's important for other reasons." But, that short quotation actually started me thinking in a couple of different directions, and, if you'll indulge me, maybe I'll think it through here.

Actually, my first thought was, "Well, I don't think your software is very efficient either, so I guess we're even." But I guess that's for another kind of article. So let's go with my second thought.

I had to agree with him.

To an extent, anyway. Religion, as it is defined as going to church on Sunday mornings, isn't very efficient. There are a lot of other things that could be accomplished on a Sunday morning, and if you tell me you've never even thought of a few, then you'll fib about other things, too. You could read the paper and have a nice, quiet morning with your spouse and kids. Go to the zoo. Finish up that yard work that's been on your to-do list since last spring. You could catch up on some reading, finish your homework, or go into the office for a couple of hours.

You could serve breakfast to the homeless. You could volunteer at a hospital. Help your neighbor out with that project he's been working on. While we're at it, let's dream big. You could start up your presidential campaign. You could discover a cure for cancer. You could solve the problems of world hunger and poverty. (You might need two Sunday mornings for that ....)

So yes, I have to agree: multiply all the people who attend church on Sundays with all that they could be doing instead, and there's a lot that's potentially not getting done while people sit in pews. Instead, they're putting their lives on hold for an hour or two in order to sing songs, read an old book, listen(?) to a (boring) sermon, and have a bit of cracker and a sip of wine or grape juice.

But maybe that's the point of what we refer to as "going to church." It's inefficient, in terms of allocation of time resources. There are a lot of other things we could be doing, even need to be doing. And yet we carve out a chunk of time we don't have to do things that seem irrelevant to the things that the world considers really important and valuable.

Marva Dawn, in one of her books, calls worship "A Royal Waste of Time." She says that's why we do it: "it takes us out of time and into the eternal purposes of God's kingdom." I think I agree, at least to the extent that I understand what she's saying. Worship with the church is important precisely because it requires us to push everything we're striving to accomplish into the background of our lives and invite what God wants of us into the foreground. Sure, we can worship alone, anytime, anywhere -- but do we? And when we do, isn't it usually kind of hurried and rushed and squeezed in between appointments, or while we're on the way to do something else, or just before we crash into bed, exhausted by the day's efforts?

Worship with the church also forces us to remember that we're not alone in our faith. Sometimes it's easier to believe that we are, because recognizing that we have companions and compatriots in our walk with Jesus entangles us in their lives. It pushes us to take responsibility for each other, pray for each other, care for each other, challenge each other -- love each other. That can be daunting and frightening, and I suspect that's what a lot of people who don't care for church really object to. They rightly recognize that church calls them to intimacy, commitment, and responsibility.

So while "religion" may not be efficient from the world's perspective, I think that's its valuable. It removes myself and my own agenda from center stage and forces me to give God's agenda -- that I love him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and that I love my neighbor as myself -- the central place in my life that it deserves. If meeting with the church for worship wasn't a regular part of my life, I don't know where the impulse for living out God's purposes in my life would come from. I don't know where my heart's compass would be calibrated so that it points reliably toward home. If I didn't meet with the church for worship, I'm not sure I would ever be able to remember that human ingenuity, effort, and accomplishment make rather poor gods.

Gate's words also cause me to wonder how "religion" has become synonymous with "Sunday morning" for so many people. While a lot happens, at least in the Christian "religion," on Sunday morning, what happens then is supposed to have to do with Monday through Saturday, too. Maybe part of the reason that people outside the church -- often good people -- tend to think of religion as irrelevant or a waste of time is that they think it's only about what we do for an hour or two on a Sunday morning. Maybe they think it's disconnected from what they term "real life." I wonder where they might have gotten that idea?

Oh, right. From church people, most likely.

So maybe it's not our job as Christians to set people like Bill Gates straight about how important it is to express our faith through worship in church. Maybe it's more our job to set ourselves straight -- to bring our lives as seen on Monday through Saturday in line with what we say we believe on Sunday. Maybe, as the people around us see evidence of our transformed hearts in our words, actions, priorities, and values, they'll be less quick to dismiss the church and organized "religion" as irrelevant. But, if what we confess on Sundays has little to do with the rest of our lives, can anyone be blamed for thinking that there are more important things to do with a Sunday morning?

The time has come, Jesus told us, when worship has less to do with holy places outside of ourselves and more to do with the holy places we make for God in our hearts and minds -- in our "spirits." Then God, who is Spirit himself, can take up residence in the only tabernacle he ever really cared much about: us. Make room for him this morning as you worship. And be sure to leave him that room for him in your life when you leave.

You never know who might be paying attention.

Website: Faith Web

No Room for Death?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 00:00:00 -0500

But the truth is that Christ has been raised up, the first in a long legacy of those who are going to leave the cemeteries. ... Everybody dies in Adam; everybody comes alive in Christ. But we have to wait our turn: Christ is first, then those with him at his Coming (1 Corinthians 15:20-23 MSG).

Gerard Lalanne has a problem. And the ordinance he's passed is not going to solve it.

Mr. Lalanne is the mayor of the village of Sapourenx, in the southwest of France. The problem he's facing is a lack of space. Not in City Hall, or in the retail district of town -- the lack of space he's trying to deal with is a bit more problematic than that.

The cemetery of Sapourenx is full.

And apparently -- wait for it -- people are just dying to get in.

Mr. Lalanne has tried to be reasonable. He really has. But an administrative court ruled against his proposal to acquire private land adjoining the cemetery in order to increase its, uh, capacity. And so Mr. Lalanne took the only recourse open to a politician. In an ordinance posted in the city council offices, he informed the 260 residents of the town that they are no longer allowed to die. The ordinance reads, in part, "[A]ll persons not having a plot in the cemetery and wishing to be buried in Sarpourenx are forbidden from dying in the parish."

"Offenders will be severely punished," it adds.

Something tells me that Mr. Lalanne's ordinance isn't likely to be enforced. It isn't supposed to be, of course; it's intended as a statement to those who the mayor feels have put him in an impossible situation. "Oh, I can't expand the cemetery? Well, then, I'll just pass a law against dying. That should solve the problem."

Would that it were that easy, huh?

Odds are that some of the people reading these words right now would love to believe that passing a law could stop death. I know, in fact, of several families touched by death recently. A mother and grandmother. A husband, father, and son-in-law. A beloved uncle and friend. Funerals seem to occur in bunches in my life, and lately I've just been to too many. I know the families touched most deeply by those losses would agree, and wish with all their hearts that there could be, well, a moratorium on death.

And then there are those who haven't been touched by death yet, but who are being stalked. A young man, younger than me, with cancer. An elderly lady, another mother and grandmother. All of us, eventually, feel death closing in on the people we love. And sooner or later, on us. Remember the story of the servant who came to his master, terrified because he had seen Death in the marketplace? "Death made a threatening gesture toward me," the servant whimpers, and so the master makes arrangements to send the servant on an errand to another town, Samarra, so that Death won't be able to get to him. Then the master goes to the marketplace and tracks down Death. "Why did you threaten my servant?" he asks.

Remember Death's response? "I didn't threaten him," Death answers. "I was just surprised to see him here in the marketplace, because I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra."

The moral, even for a people with the best medical care in history and an extended life expectancy, is that Death catches up with all of us eventually.

"Everybody dies in Adam." That's Paul's way of saying that we're not immortal. It's his recognition that the Fall was real and that God's warning was true: by going our own way, human beings would be the midwives that brought death into the world. We thought we'd be like God, but now we have a problem: Death walks in our marketplaces and takes who he wants, whenever he chooses. To the extent that we share in the same human nature as Adam, we share in his death. And, sadly, there's nothing we can do about it. Might as well pass a law against dying, for all the good it'll do.

Happily, what we can do about it isn't the end of the story.

In the same way that we look a few days down the road toward Easter, we anticipate the fulfillment of the hope to which Jesus' resurrection attests. "Everybody comes alive in Christ," is the way Paul put it. In the same way that we all share in death because of Adam's sin, we will all share in resurrection because of Jesus' life. He identified with us by sharing in death, even though he was not guilty of the sin that brought it about. And he did this so that we can share in the victory over death that his resurrection brought about. As surely as he was raised to life, so will everyone who has trusted in him. As surely as his tomb was empty, so will be the tombs of everyone who identifies with him.

In effect, Jesus did what we only wish we could do. He passed a decree against death; he prohibited death from exercising its power over human beings. "The trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable," Scripture promises. "Then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory'" (1 Corinthians 15: 53-54 NIV). We still have to die, and we still have to mourn, but because of Jesus there is hope. We grieve for those we love while celebrating their new, eternal lives. We face our eventual death with peace, not fear, trusting in the promise that "Everybody comes alive in Christ."

So while there is no hope of a moratorium on death on this side of Jesus' return, there is a solid guarantee that on the day he comes back, death will be dealt with forever. That guarantee is as solid as a rock rolled from the entrance of an empty tomb. It's as sure as the hope of those disciples who first saw him alive again.

On that day the decree will come down from on high that no one who belongs to Jesus is ever allowed to die again. Space in cemeteries, you can be assured, will no longer be a problem.

Website: Faith Web

Last Hour

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 00:00:00 -0600

So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him (Matthew 24:44 TNIV).

Imagine that you wake up one morning to somber news: a huge asteroid is hurtling towards earth. It will hit in one hour, and its impact will immediately wipe out all life on the planet. How would you spend those last 60 minutes on earth?

I know; it's kind of a bummer to think about. But, that's exactly the question asked by a recent survey conducted in Great Britain and commissioned by a publishing company to market a new novel. Fifty-four percent of respondents said that they'd spend their final hour either at the side or on the phone with loved ones. Thirteen percent said they'd spend their last moments on earth relaxing with a glass -- or more likely, a bottle -- of champagne. Nine percent answered that their last hour would be spent making love and two percent said that they'd enjoy their favorite fatty foods. Two percent admitted that, with an hour left to live, they'd start looting. (Although I suppose they wouldn't have much time to enjoy whatever they took!) Amazingly enough, only three percent of those surveyed mentioned prayer as a part of their last hour alive. Though, if you look at it in a glass-half-full kind of way, at least more people said that they would pray than loot.

I don't think I trust the results of the survey very much, but the story caught my attention because it represents an attempt to get people to think in a way that we don't usually think. It asks us to think about how our lives would be different if all that we assume and take for granted about the future was suddenly, dramatically, and drastically altered. It doesn't seem that anyone answered that they'd go to work for one more hour. No one answered that they'd take a nap. If she knew that life would end in an hour, there's not a student in the world who would finish that paper that was due the next day. If he knew that he only had sixty minutes left to live, there's not a person alive who would waste a second paying a parking ticket. Soldiers would lay down their weapons. Surgeons would put down their scalpels. No one would lose a fraction of that time doing anything simply because someone else wanted them to.

Left with one hour, we would distill life down to its simplest essence. We would ask one question: What matters most to me? And the answer to that question, and nothing else, would determine how we'd spend those final sixty minutes.

The more I read the Jesus in the gospels, the more I get the feeling that he was trying to get people to live with that "last-hour" kind of urgency, meaning, and purpose. I think we sometimes misunderstand this principle. I think we often understand him to be saying that we'd better "repent and be baptized" so we'll be "right with God" before he comes back and judges us. And so we do what we're supposed to do and then go about our lives, content in the knowledge that we're ready for his coming. But, I don't think that's what he had in mind -- at least, not all he had in mind.

For one thing, he's always telling people to "keep watch." Not, "get ready." Not, "do this one thing, and then you'll be all set." It's "keep watch." By definition, keeping watch is a long-term activity. It's not something you do only at certain times. A watchful homeowner, so the parable says, stays alert all night. The faithful and wise servant, as Jesus tells the story, is found when the master returns doing what he was given to do. The watchful maidens, as the story goes, were ready for the bridegroom and able to go in with him to the feast; those who weren't so watchful were left out because they had to go get what they were supposed to have already had. The commended servants in the parable of the talents were those who had been doing business for their master in his absence. And it's those who are found caring for the hungry, thirsty, alien, poor, sick, and imprisoned when the Son of Man returns who receive the inheritance "prepared for them since the creation of the world."

Urgency and purpose. When we understand that life is finite and that we don't really have that long, we distill it down to its simplest essence. We ask one question: What matters most to me? And the answer to that question, and nothing else, determines how we spend those final days or years or decades. Theologians call that an "apocalyptic mindset." Jesus just called it being "watchful."

Now, understand, that doesn't necessarily mean that Jesus is calling us all to spend our entire lives working among the poor in the slums of India or as a missionary in Africa or doing "full time church work" (whatever that is). You can be watchful in the career you've chosen by remembering that what God is using you to do among your colleagues or customers or patients is more important than your rapid advancement. You can be watchful as you raise a family by keeping in mind that your most important purpose is creating in your home a miniature of the kingdom of God. In school, or in your neighborhood, or wherever God has placed you, being watchful means operating from his to-do list, valuing the things he values, noticing what he notices, saying what he wants you to say, and doing what he has given you to do for those who are in need of compassion. It means remembering that one hour or another will be our last on earth, and that then he's going to hold us accountable for what we've spent our lives doing.

That doesn't have to be a scary thought. It's not that God is out to get you or that you have to pile up enough good deeds to balance out your sins. Jesus died and rose to secure our welcome into the Kingdom of God. It's just that what we profess ought to match the way we live; those of us who have asked to be let into the Kingdom through Jesus are expected to live like we're subjects of the King.

I guess it's out of self-defense that we pretend that we're going to live forever and that we'll have plenty of time later to do what really matters. The fact is, though, that what we're doing with our lives right now is what really and truly matters to us. And while it may have nothing to do with an asteroid, we can be assured that there will be one hour that actually is our last hour on earth. It might even be this hour. Whenever that hour is, may our Master find us about his business when he comes.

Website: Faith Web

Uncluttering

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 00:00:00 -0600

Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out, and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved (Matthew 9:17).

In anticipation of a construction project that will necessitate moving our church's food pantry, we've been doing a little cleaning at church. Like a lot of homes -- maybe like your home, in fact -- church buildings accumulate stuff. And while some of the stuff they accumulate is important and necessary, a good portion of it is "we-might-want-to-use-this-again-sometime" stuff. We have a lot of that kind of stuff lying around, waiting for "sometime." By the look of it, some of it has been waiting since the Nixon administration.

Anyway, watching people sorting through cabinets and shelves and throwing out stuff that's no longer useful has me thinking about the old stuff that one finds lying around church buildings. Old stuff like hymn books that are no longer used, or leftover Bible class curriculum, or old sound equipment, or broken furniture. It's got me thinking, as well, about old stuff like traditions, ways of doing things, values, and assumptions about the world around us and the community in which we live. I've been thinking about how most churches could stand to do some "uncluttering," for lack of a better word. I've been thinking how most churches need every now and again to look at all the stuff that's lying around and ask if it's worth keeping.

I wonder if that wasn't what Jesus was getting at with his "new wineskins" comment. I look at that, I look at where it's located in Matthew, and it starts to dawn on me what Jesus had in mind. He's announced to a paralyzed man that his sins are forgiven, and people are calling it blasphemy because forgiving sins is God's business. He's invited a hated, traitorous, corrupt tax collector to join his inner circle. (Imagine, for comparison, if he asked a businessman laundering drug money for the mafia.) The pious people have called him and his disciples out for not fasting. He's just about to be touched by a woman made "unclean" by her constant hemorrhage, and then he'll go on to touch an "unclean" dead body. He heals the woman and raises the dead little girl, but clearly he's giving the religious folks plenty of ammunition.

See, I think the folks that criticized Jesus for doing the things he did needed to clean out their church buildings, if you take my meaning. They had some stuff lying around that wasn't doing them or the people God called them to teach and lead and serve much good at all. They had some assumptions, traditions, and practices that were just taking up space, causing people to stumble, and getting in the way of the things that really mattered. But it was stuff that had always been there, and as far as they were concerned, always would be there. And so they left it in place and got very grumpy and impatient whenever someone tripped over it or wondered aloud if it wouldn't be better to toss it out.

It happens in churches. Stuff accumulates over the years. Oh, there's always a reason that it does, and usually it's a very good reason. At least at the beginning. Over time, though, the reason fades and what's left is the tradition, or the practice, or the assumption. I bet you can think of some stuff at your church like that. A lot of it is innocuous and harmless enough. I recently conducted an experiment at my church to try to find out why, after the servers pass the communion trays, one of them always comes back up to the front to put the lids from the grape juice trays back on the pedestals that the stacks of trays start on. The trays aren't there anymore, but someone always moves those lids. No one seems to know why, but there you are. (The best answer I got was, "I don't know: so there's room for the offering plates later?")

A lot of the old stuff that's lying around my church, and yours too, is like that. It doesn't interfere with anything, and doesn't take up much space, so why not hang on to it? And some of the old stuff is there for a really good reason, and shouldn't be thrown out unless it's for an even better reason. And some of it -- well, it's the equivalent of walls and columns and floors and ceilings in a building. It's load-bearing, and to get rid of it would be to forsake the gospel and cease being the church.

So, really, I'm not advocating throwing out old stuff without discernment, just getting rid of the clutter!

Website: Faith Web

A Jesus Sign?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 00:00:00 -0600

[Jesus said] "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven (Matthew 5:14-16).

Driving to visit my sister this past week, I came around a curve in her neighborhood and was confronted by one of her neighbor's Christmas lawn decorations. Actually, "confronted" doesn't seem quite strong enough to describe it. "Assaulted" is a little too much, but not entirely inaccurate. Whatever you want to call it, I nearly swerved the truck I was driving off the road when I saw it. It was a brightly-lit sign. It was about as tall as I am and was about ten feet wide. It was sitting in the front yard lit up for all the world to see. What it said was pretty simple and just one word: "JESUS."

I wondered how many people had said something not too righteous upon seeing that sign for the first time. It was that startling. And honestly, while I appreciated the homeowner's commitment to keeping Jesus front and center at Christmas, I have to confess that I thought the sign looked a bit, well, gaudy -- maybe downright tacky. But now that I think I've gotten over the initial shock of seeing this sign, and the more I've thought about it, the more I think I kind of like the big "JESUS" sign.

I can almost guarantee that no one drives past that sign without making some sort of comment about it. In a neighborhood full of Christmas lights, robotic reindeer, and 7-foot Santa Claus and snowman inflatables, everybody notices the "JESUS" sign. Even those who don't like it can't possibly ignore it. Plus, everyone now knows the commitments of the people who live in that house. There is no ambiguity about what they believe.

I know a giant sign in the front yard does not a Christian make. Obviously, we all would hope that the lifestyles of the people who live in that house match the "JESUS" sign in their front yard. But nobody in that neighborhood is wondering what that family is celebrating this Christmas. It's written in six-foot glowing letters in their front yard.

One other thing I think you know about those folks. They don't live for the approval of their neighbors. I wonder if anyone has asked them to take their "JESUS" sign down. I wonder if anyone has said, "Look, that thing's kind of an eyesore. Do us a favor and put up a big inflatable snow globe or glowing candy canes or something." I wonder if anyone has left an anonymous note or if they're violating some kind of neighborhood ordinance by having the now famous "JESUS" sign up. At the very least, I imagine they know that people are talking about the sign, and that some don't like it. But, these homeowners apparently don't mind the talk behind their backs, or at least they are not bothered enough to take it down.

I'm guessing that our neighbors probably don't want us to put a "JESUS" sign in our front yards -- this season or any season. However, somewhere along the way, we have to step over the line of our own comfort and sense of respectability and identify with Jesus in ways that do reflect our Lord's character and compassion. This is not just about declaring our allegiance to the Lord, but it's also about sharing his grace. So may Jesus shine so brightly in our actions and words -- as Jesus put it, in our "good deeds" -- so that we won't need big "JESUS" signs in our yards for our neighbors to know our reason for the season and the reason for our hope in any season.

Website: Faith Web

A Rose by Any Other Name Might Be ... Jim!

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:00:00 -0500

I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep, and my sheep know me -- just as the Father knows me and I know the Father -- and I lay down my life for the sheep (John 10:14-15).

He sat in my living room and called me "Jim."

He lives in my neighborhood, an older man who I stop and talk with every once in a while when I see him. We aren't close friends -- more like acquaintances -- but I thought he at least knew my name.

He came by this week and wanted to talk for a few minutes, so I invited him in and we sat down. And all through the conversation he called me "Jim." At first I thought maybe it was a figure of speech I'd never heard before, like a younger person might use "man" or "dude." But, no, it wasn't. He thought Jim was my name.

He's one of those people, too, who use your name often in a conversation: "So I just thought, Jim, that maybe I'd come by and talk to you, Jim, and then maybe we could go to the gym, Jim ...." Well, you get the idea. It's fine, as long as your name is Jim.

Mine isn't, so I got a little distracted, I admit. A lot of the time he was talking, calling me "Jim" all along, I was thinking more about how I could tell him my name wasn't Jim than about what he was saying. But every time he called me "Jim," and it must have been at least 20 times, correcting him got that much more awkward.

So I didn't say anything. When he asked for my phone number, though, I gave him a card with my name clearly printed on it. He promptly shoved it into his pocket without looking at it and headed for the front door.

"Good-bye, Jim," he said, smiling.

Later I returned a voice mail message that he left me. When he answered and I told him who I was, he didn't recognize me. (I should have said, "Hi, it's Jim.") Eventually, I got across who I was and he apologized for calling me by the wrong name. And, lest you get the wrong idea, it was never that big a deal anyway.

But it is nice when someone knows your name.

I have the feeling, though, that life has become more impersonal in the last half a century or so. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think knowing people by name means much less to us than it used to. How many of your neighbors do you know by name, for example? Do you know the names of your children's friends' parents? What about the names of the proprietors of the shops you frequent (assuming they aren't all subsidiaries of huge, multinational corporations)? Your insurance agent? The new people at church? (At our church, people seem to stay "new" for a decade or more.) There are lots of reasons for it: technology, the diversification of previously homogeneous neighborhoods, lack of time, distrust. It feels, at least, like we know fewer of the people in our lives by name than our parents did.

Maybe that's why the whole idea of God knowing me by name excites me. "I know you by name," he assured Moses. "I have summoned you by name, you are mine," he reassured his people through Isaiah. And then there's Jesus, assuring the people whom God has placed under his care and protection that they are much more to him than just one more frightened, confused face in the flock. "I know my sheep and my sheep know me" -- Jesus chooses to have the same kind of intimate, knowing-and-known relationship with us as he has with the Father.

Whether or not anyone else knows your name, or cares to, God does.

I don't know, maybe that's easy for you to believe. Maybe that's toddler Sunday-School kind of stuff -- "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so." Maybe you've never had any trouble believing that God knows you by name. If so, count your blessings, and don't forget to be thankful for God's amazing, unexpected love.

But maybe it is hard for you to believe. Maybe there aren't too many people who care to know your name. Maybe you feel as though you go through life like a ghost, neither touching nor being touched. You didn't necessarily choose that life, but there it is all the same. Maybe you go for days, weeks, without hearing your name spoken with warmth, affection, or familiarity.

If that describes you, then please take note: God knows your name, and when he speaks it it's in a voice full of fondness, gentleness, and joy. He "commands his angels concerning you," and when he sends them to your side to minister to you, he speaks your name. His Spirit identifies you as his child. In Jesus, he came for you. Your name wasn't lost to him, those he came to save are not just a faceless mass of people. Your face and your name were in his mind on the cross.

"Why would God care about my name?" you ask. Well, it's not because you're such a prize. It's not because you have anything to offer him. It's not because you've been good lately ... or because you share with the poor ... or because you go to church regularly ... or even because you read things like this. That's the way it works in the world, of course: you have to do something, either positive or negative, to have your name remembered. But, that isn't how it works with God.

God knows your name simply because he can't forget you. It's not in his nature to forget his people. And even though there's no reason that the Creator of the universe should know our names, he does. He chooses to make and value us personally. And even if it seems to you that the negatives connected to your name are far more memorable than the positives, rest assured that God remembers your name with joy, love, and grace.

It seems to me, then, that we ought to value our own names as much as God does. We ought to recognize that, whatever the people around us may think of us, God knows our names and we mean the world to him. And we ought to guard our names with care, realizing how hurt and disappointed God must be to see our names, the names of the people his Son died to save, stained by sin, corruption, and baseness.

And it seems to me that we ought to value other names as much as God does. We should make an effort to learn the names of those around us, especially the least among us, and speak those names with reverence, gentleness, love, and care. If God knows and values them, then so should we -- whoever they might be. It just might mean the world to someone that you took the time to know his or her name.

Take it from me -- Jim.

Website: Faith Web

Servin' Safari

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sat, 22 Sep 2007 00:00:00 -0500

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people ... (Galatians 6:9-10 NIV).

Dorian Paskowitz saw a need, and the fact that he's Israeli and those in need are Palestinian doesn't seem to have mattered to him.

Dorian is a retired doctor from Hawaii, 86 years old, who read about the need and decided to do something about it. He and his son left sunny Hawaii for the war-torn Gaza Strip for their mission of mercy. Dorian calls it a "mitzvah," a Hebrew word that means "good deed." While you might expect Dorian to bring medical supplies, you'd be wrong. While you wouldn't be surprised if he was bringing food or clothing, you'd be mistaken.

Dorian Paskowitz went to the Gaza Strip bearing gifts for the Palestinians that are very near and dear to his heart. Though he practiced medicine for a half a century or so, he has been a surfer for twenty-five years longer than he was a doctor. And when he read about two Palestinian surfers who had to take turns in the gnarly surf off the Gaza Strip, he could sit still no longer. "I said to my son, 'Come, we'll go to Israel and get them some boards,'" Dorian explains matter-of-factly. That's how it came about that Dorian Paskowitz, tanned and shirtless, happened to be at the Gaza-Israeli border handing off twelve surfboards to a grateful group of amazed Palestinian surfers.

"When a surfer sees another surfer with a board, he can't help but say something that brings them together," Dorian says, brushing off the obvious observations about Israeli-Palestinian tensions.

"God will surf with the devil if the waves are good."

Whether you agree or not, you have to admire the enthusiasm that leads Dorian to such a conclusion. Arthur Rashkovan, an Israeli surfer who calls Paskowitz a guru who brought surfing to Israel fifty years ago, has maybe a more realistic idea: "We want Palestinians to enjoy the surfing experience. We believe it brings people together. The idea is for people to forget about the violence and follow the journey to peace on the waves."

To tell you the truth, I think Dorian Paskowitz is on to something. Diplomacy, politics, treaties, and laws can't create peace. Wars can bring about conquest, but battering people into submission is not the same as bringing about peace. In the end, what creates peace is people doing good to people, however they have opportunity, until a society loses its capacity for hate, its impulse for violence, and its motivation for war. Twelve surfboards won't end centuries of hostilities, of course. But, find enough people willing to risk "mitzvahs" of their own, and suddenly anything's possible.

It was another Israeli, Paul, who said, "[A]s we have opportunity, let us do good to all people." I like the realism of that. "[A]s we have opportunity ...." Good deeds aren't necessarily big deals that take you halfway around the world -- maybe just across town or across the street or across the hall. The kind of good Paul is talking about is the everyday kind that might not garner headlines, but that can make all the difference in the world. It's a visit to a sick friend who really needs her spirits lifted. It's a kind word to someone who has the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's babysitting the kids of a couple who are struggling with their marriage and need time for each other. It's raking the yard of that widowed neighbor who can't afford to have it done and has no one else to do it for her.

"[A]s we have opportunity ...." That's doable, you know. All that takes is being aware of the needs around us and the people who cross our paths. All it takes is being willing to say "yes" instead of "no," to sacrifice a little time or a little money or a few of our resources. Paul's talking about giving a fellow church member a ride to the doctor, then being there to listen when she talks about her fears. He's talking about sitting next to that new student -- or that old one no one ever pays any attention to -- instead of your usual lunchtime crowd. He means giving a sandwich and a smile to a street-corner beggar, or helping that single mom you know get school supplies for her kids. There's nothing earth-shaking there. Nothing of international significance, but to the person who is the beneficiary of the good -- the recipient of your "mitzvah" -- it makes all the difference.

I guess that's why Paul warns us that our tendency will be to become weary of doing good. It's not that doing good is in itself all that exhausting, though it can be. I wonder if he means, though, that sometimes it doesn't seem to make a difference. After all, the beggar is still a beggar after he eats the sandwich I give him, and pretty soon he'll be hungry again. That single mom doesn't have to buy her kids' school supplies, but what about the braces and the winter coats and the house payment? That sick friend will still be sick after my visit, and that couple might still split up. And even after Dorian Paskowitz dropped off those boards, Israelis and Palestinians live in tension. What good we're able to do might not have any long-term benefit. It might not solve any "big" problems. And that can be tiresome.

Paul, however, promises that good deeds are never in vain. "At the proper time we will reap a harvest," he promises -- if we don't give up. That's what distinguishes the Big Kahunas of doing good from the posers -- follow-through. Paul says you "do good" just because you have an opportunity to do good, not because you see how it contributes to an overall solution, or as part of a bigger plan. You "do good" as you have opportunity, and you leave it to God to sort out the things that are too big for you. And more often than not, you'll eventually see how he used your good deed, your "mitzvah," to do something bigger than you ever imagined. In his time -- the proper time -- you'll have your harvest.

Until then, keep your eyes and ears and heart and mind open to the good God wants you to do ... the good you have opportunity to do. It might not be what you imagined and it might take you to people you'd have never thought you would serve, but if God's calling you to do it then there's a reason. Get your balance, get in the pipeline, and ride the wave wherever it takes you.

Cowabunga!

Website: Faith Web

Luxury Addiction

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 00:00:00 -0500

Someone in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me."
Jesus replied, "Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?" Then he said to them, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions." (Luke 12:13-15)

Police in Seoul, South Korea are busy looking for a woman who is suspected of embezzling $1.4 million from the agricultural cooperative where she works. The 26-year-old woman apparently has spent the last few years siphoning utility and tax payments into a personal account. Part of what tipped police off to what she was doing was her lavish lifestyle: a spokesman said, "We have strong reason to believe she used this money to purchase about 1,000 designer goods." Her purchases apparently included hundreds of pairs of shoes, among other items.

The police have even coined a term to describe the alleged culprit: "luxury addict."

I think it's probably a good word. The Bible calls it "greed," but "luxury addict" seems to capture the idea pretty well. This woman's "luxury addiction" drove her to steal huge sums of money that her workplace was sure to miss. It's driven her into hiding from the police. It's also driven her to buy ridiculous amounts of expensive merchandise. It makes you kind of wonder, doesn't it, what's missing in her life that she thought all that stuff would fill?

Aren't you glad that you never did anything ridiculous or extreme for the sake of more stuff?

I wonder what exactly makes a luxury addict? When does "want" become "need"? When does "comfort" become "necessity"? At what point do I cross the line between "healthy ambition" and "luxury addiction"? And how many guises does greed hide behind?

Luxury addict! Looking around at the society we've built for ourselves, I almost want to ask, "Who isn't?"

For sure, not many of us have stolen $1.4 million to fund our lifestyles, but I wonder how many of us have occasionally cut some ethical corners to get what we want? Few of us have hundreds of pairs of shoes, but I imagine most of us are running out of storage space in our houses. Maybe our luxury addictions don't even take the form of always wanting more stuff. Still, how many of us work ridiculous hours to pay for the stuff we have and the lifestyle we've chosen?

Before you answer back defensively about this, ask yourself how much time and energy you have left for your family, your church, and your community after your workday is over. That will tell you something about the deceitfulness of luxury addiction and its cost.

Maybe that deceitfulness is one of the reasons that some of Jesus' most sober warnings have to do with greed. He knows that greed takes many forms and that it's sometimes hardest to see in ourselves. Greed can take the form of an inordinate concern about getting what we think we deserve. Who would dare call a brother asking for his share of his parents' inheritance greedy? Yet Jesus sees how easily greed can thrive in hearts filled with a concern for possessions and wealth, and he warns us to be on our guard.

"Luxury addiction" can be easily tangled up in legitimate concerns or a proper sense of responsibility, and it's sometimes most difficult to untangle the threads. We tell ourselves that we want our kids to go to the best schools or grow up in the safest neighborhoods -- and we probably do want those things. But, that concern can also mask our own desires to live in the places served by those schools or to enjoy the amenities of those safe neighborhoods or the notoriety of living in the right places and having kids in the right schools. We say out loud that we could do without some of our luxuries and comforts, but we rarely manage to do it for long.

When we hear Jesus say, "Life does not consist in an abundance of possessions," we nod in agreement. We might even write about it. But it's striking, isn't it, the degree to which we define who we are by what we have, where we live, and how much of what we want we can actually buy?

I read recently about a group of ten people in California, activists wrestling with the environmental impact of Americans' lavish lifestyles, who made a pact in 2006 that they would not buy anything new for the entire year. They called this challenge "The Compact," and other than food and essentials like underwear, toiletries, and medications, they went through the entire calendar year without buying anything new. They discovered in doing so how much the public library has to offer. They learned how to repair things. They rediscovered the joy of sharing what they already had with one another. They had the chance to pay down credit card debt. "One of the by-products of 'The Compact' is that I now have a completely different relationship with the things in my life," a 42-year-old man said. "I appreciate the stuff I have more." Another participant reported, "I found that a lot of times there were things I thought I needed that I didn't need that much." All ten have elected to take the experiment into a second year.

We don't like our religion harsh. Christian asceticism isn't chic! But, I seriously doubt that there's any way to escape the gravitational pull of greed without making a similar compact to just stop buying more stuff. I know, that's a drastic and tough step. It's as hard for me to imagine as it may be for you. But if "luxury addiction" is really as big a problem for Americans as I'm making it out to be, then I don't think calls for moderation will suffice.

What better way for us to agree with Jesus' countercultural proclamation that life isn't about having lots of stuff than to choose a lifestyle that holds stuff at arm's length?

What better way to rediscover our faith, our families, our churches, our friends, and what better way to rediscover who we really are, than to find our meaning, purpose, and identity in our Creator instead of in the created things that so easily seem to steal our hearts away?

Ironically, in going to such lengths and expending such effort to have the things we consider valuable, we're liable to miss out on the priceless treasure God has given us in Jesus and the amazing riches he continues to pour into our lives. We need a new value system. We need a new definition of "rich." It's not about luxury, or money, or possessions. It's about God and grace and generosity and genuine happiness.

Shoes can't touch that. Not even hundreds of pairs.

Website: Faith Web