Articles by Patrick D. Odum at Heartlight

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?

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

Compliment Guys

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 00:00:00 -0500

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms. If you speak, you should do so as one who speaks the very words of God (1 Peter 4:10-11).

They were tired of it. Tired of people being grumpy, depressed, and worried. Tired of always worrying about the current economic climate. So Cameron Brown and Brett Westcott decided to do something to bring a little light and joy to their corner of the world -- which happens to be Purdue University.

They became The Compliment Guys.

That's what everyone calls them, anyway. Every Wednesday afternoon from 12:30 to 2:30, Cameron and Brett set up their "Free Compliments" sign near a main walkway outside the chemistry building. Rain, snow, sleet, cold -- whatever the weather, The Compliment Guys are "In." For those two hours on Wednesday, they live up to their name. Every person who walks by gets a compliment. To a guy in Purdue sweats they say, "Love your school spirit." To a woman carrying a trendy black bag: "Very nice purse." "It's very large." To the student who ran past them in knee-high leather boots: "I like your hustle." "I like your boots, too."

The guys try to be very personal and specific in their compliments, too. "I like your red coat," Westcott says to a woman listening to her iPod. She turned and laughed, which prompted Brown to say, "Very nice smile." Three women leaving biology lab purposely walked by them. "I like your curly hair. Great smile. I like your glasses," the guys said, pointing to each of the women. One Wednesday, they told a professor to enjoy his coffee, thanked the groundskeepers for their hard work and encouraged someone eating an apple to "stay nutritious."

While most people react positively, the guys sometimes get ignored, or get nasty looks, or the occasional obscene gesture. They get accused of being there only to pick up girls. (They both have girlfriends.) Some think it's a psychology experiment. But Brett Westcott says their reasons for being The Compliment Guys are pretty straightforward, if not too sophisticated: "Just overall, making people's day is really satisfying. Not enough people do nice things anymore."

I don't know about you, but I think The Compliment Guys might be on to something.

We're a culture that doesn't take seriously the power of words. Strange, when you think about how many words we speak, process, e-mail, and text every day. Everywhere we look, there are words: on signs, on screens, on forms and petitions, in documents and books, on labels and menus, billboards and bumper stickers. Everywhere we go, people are speaking: cell phones clamped to ears as they walk, Bluetooths (Blueteeth?) clipped to ears while they drive, in meetings and at coffee shops, in schools and churches and offices and bars and restaurants, over dinner with family and over conference calls with the home office. So many words.

So little thought.

How else to explain the careless ways that husbands and wives, parents and children, students and teachers, friends, colleagues, and fellow church members speak to each other? How else to explain the torrents of profanity yelled out of car windows when a driver feels cheated out of a spot in traffic that he thinks should have been his? How else to explain how we trivialize things like sex or family or even God with too many meaningless, thoughtless, graceless words? How else to explain all the ways in which we use words to hurt, manipulate, belittle, and control?

So many words. So little thought.

No wonder members of some religious orders take vows of silence. When you discipline yourself not to speak at all, you gain a better understanding of the value of words, in much the same way as a person who's fasting understands the value of food. Maybe we Christians should give more thought to the vow of silence. I can certainly think of situations that would have worked out much better if I had taken one.

Or maybe better, let's discipline ourselves to use words more carefully. That's where I think The Compliment Guys have it right. They're making a choice to use words to "make peoples' day." They're disciplining themselves, at least for two hours on Wednesday afternoons, to speak in ways that are positive, affirming, and encouraging. I suspect, too, that those two hours on Wednesday carry over, at least to some extent, in the ways that they speak when they're "off duty."

"If you speak," wrote Peter, "you should do so as one who speaks the very words of God." I love that it's Peter, of all people, who wrote that. Peter, the guy who was so well-acquainted with the taste of foot. The guy who swore he'd never desert Jesus, and then swore just as vehemently that he didn't know him. He learned, somewhere along the line, and by the time he was an elder statesman of the church he had learned how much words mattered. He had begun to regard words, and the opportunity to use them, as gifts from God. He understood that the faithful words of God's people are one of the many ways in which God's grace takes form in this world. So he wanted the church to take words seriously. He charged them to give careful thought to what they said, to consider whether or not the words coming from their mouths or pens were suitable vehicles for the grace of God to travel in. "If you say something, make sure it's something that wouldn't seem out of place coming from the mouth of God himself."

Well, we can try to do better at least, can't we? It might not work for you to set up your own "Free Compliment" stand at your own work or school. But then, there are other ways to bless people with your words than firing compliments at them as they walk by. We can speak encouraging words to someone who's having a bad day. We can be gentle and careful when we have to reprimand a child or an employee. We can remember to say "I love you" more often, and "Your problem is ..." less. We can speak truth, lovingly, to people who are spiraling out of control. We can tell the story of Jesus a little more often. We can add to and listen to slanderous, gossip-filled stories a lot less. We can choose to use words to defuse anger instead of adding to it. We can be quiet and give others a chance to speak, when that's what God is calling us to. And we can choose to use words to bless others, instead of gratifying ourselves or getting what we want.

Give it a try. You'll get the hang of it.

Hey -- good job reading this.

Website: Faith Web

Emergency?

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 00:00:00 -0500

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength (Philippians 4:12-13).

Emergency. For me, the word brings to mind catastrophes. A fire, an earthquake, a tornado. A broken dike that floods a city. A terrorist attack. A violent crime. A terrible accident. To my way of thinking, an emergency requires the intervention of police, rescue, or medical personnel. But maybe I'm too narrow in my definition. Maybe I should broaden my understanding of the word to include, say, a restaurant running out of delicious chicken products.

Latreasa would apparently say so. Earlier this week, she ordered a ten-piece Chicken McNuggets^TM meal at a McDonald's in Fort Pierce, Florida. After she had paid for the food, she was told that they were out of McNuggets. Latreasa became "irate," especially after the cashier told her (mistakenly, as it turned out) that she couldn't give Latreasa a refund. She offered Latreasa another choice from the menu, and that's when Latreasa decided it was time to let the professionals handle this emergency.

She called 911.

Three times.

Wouldn't you love to hear those 911 recordings? You can!

Recording Call 1

Recording Call 2

Recording Call 3

No, sorry, Latreasa. I can't buy it. Being hungry and completely without food, like many people in the world actually are -- that's an emergency. But a restaurant being out of your favorite item, with a whole menu full of alternatives? Well, at best, I'd call that an inconvenience. A minor annoyance.

But, aren't we good at magnifying those minor annoyances into major catastrophes? I mean, maybe you've never called 911 because of anything that's happened at the counter of a fast-food restaurant, but I imagine you've sat fuming in traffic, staring at your watch, thinking about all the important things that weren't getting done while you sat there. Or if not that, maybe you've inflated a small setback at work into a crisis. Perhaps you can relate more to allowing a romantic reversal to send you spiraling into depression or relate to losing your temper at a relatively minor spousal misstatement or misdeed. Maybe it's none of those things specifically, but you get the picture, right? And I'm guessing that you, like me, have been guilty of breaking the glass and pulling the "emergency" alarm just a hair too quickly.

Our problem, I think, is that underneath our grown-up exteriors and our ability, when necessary, to make sacrifices, is still that cosmology we had in childhood. You know the one I mean. The one where I think the world revolves around me.

And if the world revolves around me, then everything that goes wrong for me is potentially an emergency. And, thus, potentially an occasion for sulking, yelling, lashing out, or striking back.

That's why I'm intrigued when Paul says that he's learned "the secret of being content in any and every situation." If you know anything at all about Paul, then you know that he found himself in some fairly hair-raising situations. He was hungry sometimes -- not in the sense of wishing he could get some delicious chicken products, but hungry in the sense of literal starvation. He spent some considerable time in jail. He narrowly escaped lynch mobs -- or more historically accurate, mobs that wanted to stone him -- more than once. He had health problems, relationship problems, and he was even shipwrecked a time or two. And that doesn't even include the stress of travelling all the time, dealing with church problems, and putting up with people who went out of their way to sabotage everything he tried to do.

So when Paul says he's learned to be content, I tend to want to pay attention.

The secret, though, is a little tough to hear. Paul says that his ability to be content whatever the situation comes out of replacing himself as the one around whom the world revolves. With his believe that Jesus had risen from the dead and his decision to let Jesus call the shots in his life, the center of gravity in Paul's life changed. What happened to him mattered not nearly as much as whether or not he lived a life that was faithful to his new calling. And with that perspective, things that he once would likely have considered crises -- emergencies -- became non-events.

And the serendipity of this change, for Paul, was that Jesus became not just Lord, but "him who gives me strength." By choosing to trust the Lord and not hit the panic button when things seemed to go off the rails in his life, Paul discovered a source of strength to endure and overcome that he never would have known otherwise. He discovered that he could not only survive in difficult situations, but that he could thrive -- because where his strength ended, there Jesus' power began.

That's the problem in not learning to find contentment in Jesus regardless of circumstances. When we hit the panic button too early, we invariably lurch into crisis mode and try to come up with our own solutions to our problems. Trouble is that our own solutions are almost always about finding a quick way out, with as little personal discomfort as possible.

Worst of all, when we chase our own solutions, we miss out on what the Lord would do for us.

So here's what we do, I think. First, we tell God that, with his help, we're going to find our contentment in him. We're going to trust in his goodness and generosity, and when times are lean we're going to believe that in him we'll have all the strength to endure whatever we have to endure.

Secondly, we tell someone else. We tell other believers that we're working on being more content in God's power instead of our own schemes. We ask them to pray with us and for us, and we ask if we can talk to them about the things we learn about God and ourselves.

Finally, we resist the urge to hit the panic button when things seem to go bad. When we feel like lashing out at someone, we pray instead. When you feel like compensating for sadness or anger with sundaes or substances or sex or shopping, we sing worship songs or read Scripture. When we feel like hiding or sulking, we seek out people who will bless us, or who we can bless.

And when we are weak, each of us will seek him out and discover, with Paul, that we can rely on God, the one who gives us strength.

By the way, McDonald's is sending Latreasa a gift card for a free meal. A spokesperson said that the cashier was mistaken and should have refunded her money. Turns out that Latreasa didn't need the 911 call after all -- she just needed to know who to talk to.

The same goes for us.

And WE know who to talk to.

Website: Faith Web

Dibs

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 00:00:00 -0500

The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is mine and you reside in my land as foreigners and strangers (Leviticus 25:23).

Chicago has a fascinating tradition that's in some ways as much a part of its fabric as the Cubs and Sox, deep-dish pizza, windy winter days, and skyscrapers. It's a tradition for snowy days during the winter months, when the combination of heavy snow, narrow residential streets, and lots of apartment buildings make parking a challenge.

It's the tradition of putting household items out on the curb to reserve parking places.

It works like this. If you park on the street, when the snow plow comes through it pretty much buries your car. Armed with a shovel, you go out into the cold and dig your vehicle out, leaving a nice parking space carved out of the snow bank. The problem, of course, is that the shortest measurable length of time so far discovered by human beings is the time between the moment you pull out of that space and someone else pulls in. (Statisticians estimate that, at any given time, upwards of 20,000 people are driving around Chicago neighborhoods looking for parking. OK, I made that up; but I bet I'm not too far off.)

So someone, sometime, came up with the idea of bringing out an old lawn chair to put in his spot until he got home. It's actually fascinating to notice as you drive through Chicago neighborhoods just what people will use to reserve their spots. I've seen floor lamps, couches, bar stools, bookcases, and old tires. Some folks go the utilitarian route and use orange traffic cones. Quite a few use sawhorses with "no parking" signs hanging from them. I've seen chairs, coffee tables, and I read about a guy who scatters a couple of boxes of screws and roofing nails in his spot. (It takes him an hour or two to pick them all up -- in which time, of course, he could drive around and find another place to park ...) I've even seen an old toilet. Once, I drove by and saw a kid standing in a freshly dug-out space. I could only assume his parents didn't have a spare lawn chair or an old toilet.

Despite the fact that it isn't legally possible to own a parking space on the street, no matter how much time you may have spent digging it out, to move someone's space marker and park in "their" space is to ask for retaliation in the form of a broken windshield, slashed tires, or angry confrontations. And that's just the elderly grandmother who lives down the street from me. People get possessive about those parking spaces they work hard to dig out -- psychotically so. Remember when you were a kid and would call "dibs" on something? It's like that, only more so.

So I sometimes wonder what would happen if someone dug out a space in front of their neighbor's house, and then reserved it for him.

That would just be weird, wouldn't it? Fly in the face of everything we assume in our world to be right. If you doubt that, try it sometime. I'm guessing that your neighbor won't know what to say or how to respond. It's just too strange, just too opposed to the popular notion that says "What's mine is mine." There are only so many places to park, after all. If you take "my" space, where will I put "my" car?

You can be excused if you haven't heard much about the Jubilee year in the Old Testament. The Law of Moses decreed that every fiftieth year was to be a year of general amnesty and redemption. Specifically, any sale of property made in the previous fifty years was nullified and the property returned to the family that originally owned it. The purchase price for property, in fact, was supposed to reflect the number of years left until Jubilee.

Sounds pretty strange to us, doesn't it? Keep in mind, property in Israel was assigned by tribe and family, so for there to be equity those tribal possessions needed to remain fairly constant. That was the practical reason for it, but the practical reason rested on the theological one: the land on which Israel lived didn't belong to Israel at all. It was God's land, given to them because of his generosity and grace. Every fifty years, they had no choice but to remember it.

I can't begin to imagine the economic implications of something similar to a Jubilee today -- though maybe at this point we should be willing to try anything. And, hear me now, I'm not advising you to help yourself to your neighbor's parking space this winter. Not everyone's ready to celebrate a Jubilee, you understand. I do think, though, that as God's people it would do us good to remember that what we own isn't as much "ours" as we tend to think, and to try to mold our attitudes about "our" stuff accordingly.

As the Jubilee laws of ownership remind us, our attitudes won't be molded if our actions don't change. As Jesus reminded us, "[W]here our treasure is, there our heart will be also." If our habits in regard to collecting and keeping stuff look no different than the habits of those who don't recognize that God is ultimately the owner and bestower of everything we have, then we shouldn't be surprised when our attitudes begin to reflect theirs, too. In short, if you act like you have "dibs" and take special care to mark off "yours" from "theirs," it won't be long until you start to believe it, and God is out of the picture entirely.

Maybe what we need, in this land of affluence and opportunity, the birthplace of the American Dream, is a good dose of Jubilee. We -- yes, those of us who set such stock in titles and deeds and all the myriad ways we call "dibs" on stuff that we don't want to share -- might now and then need a reminder that God isn't necessarily impressed with the legal chairs and traffic cones and sawhorses we use to keep other people away from "our" stuff. In fact, in God's world it might just be that he makes us trustees of his resources so that we can be a blessing to those other people.

So declare your own personal Jubilee. You're not allowed to declare your own debts cleared, you understand, but maybe God's calling you to free someone from a debt that they owe you and are having trouble paying back. Maybe you have something that someone else could use, and God's calling you to give it to that person. Maybe God's asking you to welcome someone as a guest in your home -- the home he gave you. Maybe God's calling you to use your expertise to help someone without worrying about whether you get compensated or not. Whatever blurs the lines of ownership reminds us that it's really God who gave it to us -- God is the one through whom all blessings come. Whatever removes the markers that tell others that some of the things we have are off-limits -- that's Jubilee.

All that old furniture in front of your house in those parking spaces looks kind of tacky, anyway.

Website: Faith Web

Sawdust and Two-by-Fours

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 00:00:00 -0600

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in someone else's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say, "Let me take the speck out of your eye," when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from the other person's eye (Matthew 7:3-5 TNIV).

Firefighters at a fire station in Nagoya City, Japan, are a little embarrassed this week. Seems they're responsible for burning down a building.

Their own firehouse, as a matter of fact.

Everyone was out answering multiple alarms, it seems -- including the firefighter who was cooking dinner for the rest of the crew. In a hurry to answer the call of duty, he apparently forgot to turn off the stove. Ten trucks from other stations responded to put out the fire.

Seiji Hori, spokesperson for the Nagoya City Fire Department, articulated the embarrassment they feel about the incident: "We are an institute that should be in a position to educate people about fire, so we are extremely sorry that such an incident happened."

He added that they might consider ordering out for dinner from now on.

In fairness to those firefighters, they're embarrassed about their mistake. They see the inconsistency. Imagine, though, that they didn't. What would you think if the next time they went out on a call, they berated a homeowner for using a faulty space heater or burning a candle too close to the curtains or overloading an outlet? What would you say? "Physician, heal thyself?" "Practice what you preach?" You'd see the inconsistency, even if those firefighters didn't. "Wait, didn't you burn down your own station with your carelessness?" you might rightfully ask. And you probably wouldn't hear anything they had to say very well, even though they might be right.

A police officer who commits a crime, a doctor whose negligence harms or kills a patient, a judge who takes a bribe, a broker who steals his client's money are people who especially should know better than to do the things they do. They don't see the inconsistency, or more likely they see it and choose to live with it. Like those firefighters in Japan, they should be embarrassed. For whatever reason, they're not. They continue to do things that contradict who they say they are and what they're supposed to be doing. And when everything comes to light, they're left with no credibility. Who trusts a hypocrite, after all?

To point accusatory fingers only at others, though, is to miss the point entirely.

Jesus probably knew first-hand what it was like to have sawdust in his eye. I'm fairly sure that Joseph didn't use safety goggles. So when he wanted to address the human tendency to pass judgment on others while giving ourselves a pass, the sawdust metaphor would have been a natural one. Imagine two carpenters working. One gets a little sawdust in his eye. It hurts, his eye starts tearing, his vision is obscured. His buddy notices that speck of sawdust, points it out, and appoints himself "Official Sawdust Remover." But, he never even mentions his own little problem: he has a whole plank hanging out of his eye. The absurdity of the situation makes the point: the carpenter with the plank needs to deal with own problem before he starts pointing out his buddy's sawdust issues.

What is it about us that wants so desperately to find the faults in each other? How many marriages have been left dead and cold by husbands and wives who carefully note every sin of their spouses and are blind to their own? How many churches have been split by self-appointed "guardians of truth" diligently searching out doctrinal specks in others without noticing how their own lack of love and grace blinds them? How many people who feel the tug of the Holy Spirit on their hearts have been pushed away from Jesus forever by fault-finding Christian Pharisees whose own sins are secret only to themselves? How many preachers have battered their churches into submission for every speck in their lives while remaining unable to acknowledge the splintered, rotting lumber of their own sins and shortcomings?

It's easier, isn't it? That's the reason, when we're honest, for our tendency to prefer magnifying glasses turned on others to mirrors turned on ourselves. There's something satisfying, gratifying, in a twisted sort of way, about discovering dirt on other people. It's the reason people buy the publications in the grocery store checkout line, and it's the reason other people can look down on them for it. And it's the reason hypocrisy still lives in the church.

That's what Jesus called it, of course: Hypocrisy. I know, it's kind of an ugly word. It's pretending, play-acting, and the only way to eliminate hypocrisy is to end the show and take off the mask, make-up, and costume that we've used to camouflage our sins and pretend to be something we're not. It's to admit that we're only playing at being perfect, and that we're no better than the people at whom we've delighted in pointing fingers.

There are times, of course, when letting something someone has done go by unchallenged can have deadly consequences. Sometimes love demands that we speak up and speak out, that we take someone aside and call him on something we've seen. But when those times come, they should not cause me joy. And if those times seem to come often, then maybe I should ask why I feel compelled to judge others so often. "In the same way you judge others, and with the measure you use," Jesus says, "it will be measured to you" (Matthew 7:2). The truest measure of my attitude toward others is whether or not I would want God to judge me by the standard I'm using.

Who trusts a hypocrite? So by God's grace, we'll pay attention to the planks in our own eyes. By his strength, we'll remove them. By his mercy, we'll receive his forgiveness and healing. And by his Spirit, we'll be able to help others do the same. Not as superiors handing down the verdict on their sins, but as fellow-strugglers who are just as dependent as they are on the love of a faithful God poured out in the One who took our sins on Himself.

When we warn someone about leaving the stove on, let us never forget that we've burned down our share of buildings.

Website: Faith Web

In Christ

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 00:00:00 -0600

God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people's sins against them ... (2 Corinthians 5:19 TNIV).

An Indian court this week sentenced a 75-year-old doctor to three months in jail for accepting a bribe back in 1985. The doctor accepted the payment of 25 rupees for issuing a fake medical certificate. He was convicted in 1992 and sentenced to a year in jail, but the case dragged on from one appeal to the next. Appeals finally exhausted, the doctor was taken into custody after having his sentenced reduced to three months. The court felt that a year was too long a sentence for the size of the bribe.

Twenty-five rupees is worth about fifty-one cents.

Now, I don't condone bribery, but I just don't think the good doctor was even trying very hard.

From a certain point of view, the 25-year prosecution of a 75-year-old for a half-dollar bribe seems just a bit silly. I mean, aren't there bigger fish to fry in India? Seems like he could just get a pass, doesn't it, with his age and the size of the bribe and all? Make him pay it back and get on with life.

From a certain point of view, that makes sense. But it didn't to the prosecuting attorney on the case, Vipin Kumar Sinha. "[The doctor] thought he would get a reprieve from the court," Sinha told reporters after the verdict. "But all the charges [have] been proved against him." To him, it seems self-evident. You do the crime, you do the time. Bribery with fifty cents is still bribery, and to make an allowance for one person is to set a dangerous precedent for others. Justice demands a consistent punishment for crimes committed.

I think sometimes we see God like that. We imagine him sitting in front of a big ledger, keeping track of our sins, never missing even one. I think that's why so many people react negatively to God and to spiritual matters: who wants to be prosecuted for everything we've ever done? Who can love an accountant with a pencil stuck behind his ear, carefully noting all the bad decisions you've made and bad things you're done and weighing out justice for each of them?

For some, religion is all about balancing the ledger: doing enough good to cancel out the bad. But it doesn't work like that at all. Whatever good the doctor may have done in his life, you don't see the prosecutor giving him credit. Justice demands restitution of some sort, or punishment, or both. Thinking in terms of balancing a ledger is rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship. Sin doesn't balance. It doesn't just go away. Ask the good doctor in India. It has consequences that reach far beyond the initial act. If you doubt that, you have to look only as far as demands of its victims for justice to see proof.

We're on the hook, you see, every one of us. Just as surely and inevitably as that doctor. Oh, sometimes the consequences of what we do take a little time to catch up with us. But catch up with us they most surely do.

But there where the bad news sounds so very bad, the good news sounds especially good.

Paul talks about God "reconciling himself to the world in Christ." He's saying that in spite of our guilt, in spite of the fact that our sins put us at odds with God, God has chosen to settle things between us. He does this by doing what that prosecutor in India really couldn't: he just doesn't count our sins against us. He chooses to regard us with grace and forgiveness and love and offer us mercy instead of justice. He changes the rules in our favor.

And he does all this, Paul tells us, "in Christ."

There's a lot resting on those two words. Many of the New Testament writers spill a lot of ink writing about just how Jesus' death and resurrection settle matters between God and us. Is he our substitute, suffering in our place? Is he an atoning sacrifice, appeasing God's wrath? Does he impart to us his righteousness and faithfulness to God? Does he include us in his victory over sin and death through our faith in him?

There's probably some degree of truth in all those ways of understanding Jesus' work, but then again they're also all imperfect metaphors for something that isn't to be explained as much as trusted. At some point, the language of rationality and explanation has to give way to the language of faith and praise. In the end, it's less important that we answer the question of exactly what God was doing "in Christ" than that we answer the question of whether or not we are "in Christ."

"All of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ," Paul says in another place (Galatians 3:27). He means more than merely being dunked in water, of course: he's also talking about the faith and repentance that precede baptism. Being "in Christ," then, is a matter of trust. It's a matter of turning away from all the old ways of living and coping and getting along, and replacing whatever we once trusted in with Jesus. Even that, of course, is a gift of God. But God responds to that faith in Jesus -- shaky and tentative as it may be -- by clearing the charges against us, so to speak.

So much for that picture of God all hunched over his ledger, obsessively tallying our sins. The God who delights in finding fault with his creatures is a construct of human self-loathing and Pharisaical self-righteousness. The God of the universe is the God who in some way that defies explanation shared our humanity, died, and rose again so that our sin would not be counted against us. "If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" wrote Paul (2 Corinthians 5:17-18). And so it would be very clear, he went on to say, "All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation."

"All this is from God": the God of the new creation, the God of beginning again, the God of life from death, the God of hope from despair. The God who comes to his sinful, guilty children, raises our heads, and gives us grace, mercy, and love -- and a new purpose to take that message of reconciliation to others who need to hear it.

Yeah, so you've blown it. You're guilty. There's no way to hide it, no way to justify it. But come to Christ in faith and repentance, and you'll find something far better. You'll find a God who knows what you've done, and why you've done it, but who has chosen to suffer rather than to let your sins come between you and him. And you'll find a new creation, a new life full of hope and promise, that's yours to be had.

All this is from God.

May he be forever praised.

Website: Faith Web

What We Have Seen and Heard

p.d.odum@gmail.com (Patrick D. Odum) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 00:00:00 -0600

Then they called them in again and commanded them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. But Peter and John replied, "Which is right in God's eyes: to listen to you, or to him? You be the judges! As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard" (Acts 4:18-20 TNIV).

Rick Warren, the senior pastor of what might be America's best-known church, the Saddleback church, was asked to lead the invocation at President Obama's inauguration this week. Warren's prayer was probably about what could reasonably have been expected from an evangelical pastor. It was an unabashedly Christian prayer in which Warren invoked the name of Jesus at least four times, and closed with the Lord's Prayer.

Predictably, some people are horrified that a Christian pastor would pray a Christian prayer.

Steve Chapman, a columnist for The Chicago Tribune, wrote this in his online blog of January 21st:

If I were a Christian, I'd have been embarrassed by Rick Warren's invocation at the Inauguration. It was aggressively evangelical, serving to exclude everyone who doesn't accept the divinity of Jesus. He seemed to think he was at a revival rather than a secular event meant for all -- in a country whose constitution rejects official sponsorship of any faith.

Mr. Chapman isn't a Christian. He is, in his words "not persuaded of the existence of the Almighty." He goes on to write, after his criticism of Warren, of his feeling of gratification that President Obama included a reference to "nonbelievers" alongside "Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus" in his address, pointing out that he is probably the first President to expressly mention atheists as making up part of the nation. He ends his post by writing, "I can only be grateful to Obama for reminding his audience -- including Rick Warren -- that nonbelievers are Americans, too."

Mr. Chapman's post is another entry in the ongoing debate that arises out of the diversity of America. The framers of our Constitution never envisioned a country of "Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus and nonbelievers." The clause against the formal establishment of an official religion seems to have been part of an effort to keep the new country from inheriting the Protestant/Catholic wars of Europe. It's at best debatable that the clause was ever intended to obliterate all traces of religion in the public life of the nation. But with immigrants from all over the world coming to America -- and bringing their faiths, or lack thereof, with them -- religion in American life has become increasingly complicated. The recent past demonstrates an approach that acknowledges a sort of civic, "God bless America" kind of religion. It acknowledges that faith is important to many of us, and lets us speak of that faith publicly as long as we do so in agreeably non-specific terms.

Warren's sin is that he got too specific.

Of course, in asking Warren to lead the invocation and taking in atheists with his address, President Obama might have signaled an adjustment in approach. As glad as Mr. Chapman is that atheists were recognized as Americans, I'm at least that gratified that President Obama included evangelical Christians. As highly as Mr. Chapman values his rights as an American to speak out as an atheist, I value my right to speak out as a believer in Jesus.

If President Obama had asked a Muslim cleric to lead the invocation, no one should have been surprised to hear that prayer addressed to Allah. And no one should have been surprised that an evangelical Christian would invoke the name of Jesus. More than a right given by the Constitution, speaking in the name of Jesus is an obligation that springs from who a believer in Jesus is. He claimed to be the salvation of the world, and embedded in the gospel is a mandate to tell the story to the world. A Christian literally bears the name of Jesus, and to speak of who we are is unavoidably to speak of who he is.

Mr. Chapman is understandably comfortable speaking of a "secular" sphere as opposed to a "sacred" one, because for him there is only a secular sphere. It's more problematic for a Christian to speak in such terms, because for us there is only a sacred one. Jesus stakes a claim to our whole lives; "No one can serve two masters," he reminds us. And so it would have felt like a betrayal of his faith for Rick Warren to pray at the Inauguration in any way other than in Jesus' name. What for Mr. Chapman was a "secular" event was for Christians a sacred one, because the questions we should be asking at every event and every turn of our lives is, "What is God up to here?" and "What is my part in it?"

In a regime which did not allow freedom of religious expression, Peter and John found themselves forced to ignore an official gag order: "Which is right in God's eyes: to listen to you, or to him? ... As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard." And the fact is that even in a country that allows freedom of religion, we'll sometimes be called to follow in their footsteps. Our conviction will at times, for various reasons, make people uncomfortable. We will occasionally be accused of intolerance, that most unforgivable of American sins. There will be times in our lives when we'll be asked to be quiet, or even instructed not to speak anymore in the name of Jesus. When that happens, as politely and gently and humbly as possible, we'll have to say along with our spiritual forbears "We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard."

Don't get me wrong: we mustn't be jerks. There's no Christian calling to bigotry or hatred or intolerance of different beliefs and points of view. We'll want to choose our words carefully, mindful of context and situation. There may well be times when we'll suggest that it might be more appropriate to finish a conversation at a later time. But, neither should we pretend to be something we're not, or pretend not to be something we are. If we're believers in Christ, then not speaking about him is really not an option.

That's not because I feel like I have more right than Mr. Chapman to force my opinion on others, or because I feel that the President should favor Christians over atheists. It's not about my national identity at all -- it's about who I am in Christ. It's about the fact that "the life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Galatians 2:20).

I cannot help speaking about what I have seen and heard.

Sorry, Mr. Chapman.

For further reflection -- from the editor Phil Ware:

For an interesting take on the whole issue of civil public discourse on faith, one of the great intellects for faith and believing is Os Guinness. Check out his OP Ed piece in USA Today: Faith and Inauguration.

For an example of how this was done by the earliest believers, check out the apostle Paul before the philosophers in Athens and note that he quotes their own pagan philosophers and poets (Acts 17:16-34).

Let's not be ugly and pigheaded in the public square -- the Internet, blogs, etc. -- but let's also not be afraid to share the reason for the hope we have, doing it with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15-16).

I'd love for us to continue the discussion on my blog:
http://www.thephilfiles.com

Website: Faith Web