Our Astonishing Faith (part 1 of 3)

From First Things, April 2008, number 182:

The comedian Bill Maher recently delivered himself of some rather decided views on religion in general and Catholicism in particular. On a late-night talk show he said, "You can't be a rational person six days of the week and put on a suit and make rational decisions and go to work and, on one day of the week, go to a building and think you're drinking the blood of a 2,000-year-old space god. That doesn't make you a person of faith. That makes you a schizophrenic."...[We] might ask whether the Mahers, at least at times, do not, however inadvertently, render a service in pointing to the astonishing nature of Christian truth claims. Astonishing if they are not true, and more astonishing if they are. We are not schizophrenic, but we are keenly aware of the tension and, at times, the conflict between the gospel and culturally conventional understandings of reality. Christianity is indefatigably dialogical but never without an edge. Matthew Lickona puts it nicely in his memoir of a young Catholic, Swimming with Scapulars: "Let's be open and clean. Let's drag this out into the light and discuss. let's not be shocked and resentful; let's love the lonely. Perhaps, coming from a fanatic, the message of God's love will regain some if its wonderful outrageousness. 'Listen. I have a secret. I eat God, and I have His life in me. It's the best thing in the world; it leads to everlasting life. But first, you have to die to yourself.'"

Richard John Neuhaus draws into sharp relief the fundamental foolishness of the whole enterprise. We, we cool American dudes, shy away from the bizarre nature of the gospel: that the creator-God came "down to us" as a first-century Jewish handy-man named Yish and let Himself get murdered by the Romans, but came back to life and is now, once again, Master of the Universe. Oh, and this was all according to plan, and, hold on, He wants us to join Him in what He variously calls a mission, a kingdom, a creation, a war, a race, a gathering and a death-march.

What good is it to draw attention to the, ah, odd members of the theological family? Can't we focus on raising children, on images of trees by water and sheep sleeping under the watchful eye of a shepherd, on food magically multiplying and other cool stuff? Well, and this question betrays my "westerness" with its concern for usefulness, but I think there are two results of ignoring the fantasy beneath our faith:

Part 2

Part 3

There Will Be Blood

Disturbing? All the more so because it was well acted.
It's a morality tale about greed, what it leads men to do and what it does to men. At the center of the tale is a conflict between a charlatan preacher who represents the divine perspective and the oil man who represents the atheistic perspective. The men are both self-centered and use people for their ends. They are mean and money-grubbing. Again, God's followers are typified as either greedy business men who manipulate people for money or as the simple minded superstitious rabble who line those men's pockets. This is an unfortunate perception that we need to be aware of.
But the story is not entirely bad in that regard. The oil man's greed twists his mind and soul to some extreme lengths. The movie is uncomfortable to watch, but very well done and though disturbing would raise some interesting questions and points of discussion.

IMDB
Rotten Tomatoes
Plugged In

No Country for Old Men

It's dark and violent and post-modern in the bad sense. But it's a Coen brother's movie, so there may be more than meets the eye. Take for example the following quote, the end of Sheriff Lamar's monologue at the beginning of the film:

I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job--not to be glorious. But I don't want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don't understand.
You can say it's my job to fight it but I don't know what it is anymore.
More than that, I don't want to know. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He would have to say, okay, I'll be part of this world. (emphasis added)

Would it be a stretch to say that the movie is a backhanded study of the glorious love of Jesus for the glory of His Father in the people of God?
I mean, on one level the movie is about how the world, in particular modern villainy, is inhospitable to old men, meaning men from the era when bad guys were still decent (cough). But beneath that, the story is the great, frightened flinch of Sheriff Lamar at the evil he encounters in Chigurh.
And it is just that evil for which Christ came. He did put His soul at hazard. He did say, "okay." He did say, "I'll be a part of this world, this world with corruption so bizarre, so perverse, so creative." He was a part of it.
I watched the movie on 'sad' Saturday, the day before Easter. I was touched at the thought that Christ would be most like one of the victims of the evil man/men of the picture: dead, the object of irrational injustice.
But God...

Loneliness

My guess would be that someone someday will trace the roots of modern human loneliness to a loss of intimacy with place, to our many breaks with the physical Earth. We are not out there much anymore. Even when we are, we are often too quick to take things in. A member of the group who insists on lingering is "holding everyone else up." I think about this kind of detachment from the physical world frequently, because human beings, generally, seem to long for a specific place, a certain geography that gives them a sense of well-being.

When I was traveling regularly in the Arctic, I routinely asked Yupik, Inupiat, and Inuit how they characterized people from the civilization of which I was a part. "Lonely" was a response I heard with discomfiting frequency. The cure for loneliness, I have come to understand, is not more socializing. It's achieving and maintaining close friendships. The trust that characterizes that kind of friendship allows one to be vulnerable, to discuss problems that resist a solution, for example, without having to risk being judged or dismissed.

National Geographic: Dec 2007 Coldscapes by Barry Lopez (145).

Saturday of Holy Week

I've meditated on Psalm 88 every year these last few years. Jesus in the grave and no sunrise ahead. Seems like a good psalm for bad times. Hiding in the closet, dry bread on your lips and the tang of wine gone clammy on your breath, wondering when the other shoe will fall and from what height. For everyone in the bad times:
Psalm 88.

Also, a previous year's Normal Christian meditation on Psalm 88.

Wednesday of Holy Week (Spy Wednesday)

(John 13:21-31)
Who's the spy? Which one will betray Jesus, will sell his life for money? "Lord, who is it?" the disciples said. "Lord, who is it?" we say together.
Who do you think it is? Hello.
We are the spies. I am the enemy who has gained access to Jesus' inner circle. I am the opposition breaking bread with the King. I have insinuated myself alongside him. And I have betrayed him. Innocent blood is on my hands: His blood.
Then I freeze, with Judas. "What? What did he just say?" "How could he have known?" You mean that I am here and I am known. I am known at the height of my sin and shame, betraying my Lord over dinner. How could he know? Why would he know and let me come?
"Now is the Son of Man glorified and God is glorified in him."
By his mercy and patience I've come this close, only to betray him. But in the end it is our shameful mistreatment of his kindness that magnifies the very kindness we betray. We spit and receives. We hit and he marches forward. Forward to the place where all spit and anger will be extinguished like a match in the ocean.
Make no mistake. "Jesus and the spy" is the gospel. His love meets our most belligerent rejection on the cross. The cross stands over and above this whole exchange that each of us take part in. You have betrayed your Lord. Weep. Be ashamed. Then magnify His mercy, who would allow your betrayal so that He can show you how deep and rich His love runs. It runs deeper and deeper.

Tuesday of Holy Week

Tuesday of Holy week and I'm tired.
Some people came into town today saying they heard the LORD talk to Jesus in broad daylight. (John 2:20ff)
This is me doing cartwheels.
Other people came into town arguing with each other saying, "He can't be the Christ!" Others, "No! He certainly is!" This last group was small.
I talked to some of my friends who were there, to see if they'd had a chance to talk to Jesus. Of course they hadn't. They said that as soon as Jesus stopped talking there was some movement and then when the crowd thinned, they looked and he was gone.
Typical.
See, it's Tuesday and I'm tired. Yesterday we were all scratching our heads wondering if maybe Jesus would set the world back to the way it should be (Jews on top!). Today he's back to crypto-religious proverbs about walking in dark and light. Yesterday he's tossing tables and swinging like a crazy-man. Today the LORD (Faithful and True) talks to him? Oh, or maybe it was an angel. Or thunder.
This is me thinking it was thunder.
I'm just tired.
How many "Messiahs" will we endure before the LORD shows up in power? Since before my grandfather's grandfather men were rising up, claiming prophecies, spouting promises, hearing the LORD talk to them. Or maybe it was an angel. Or thunder.
And this one isn't even talking war. War I can cheer about, but this guy? He does neat stuff, but it's hard to, I mean, verify. Like I saw him stop one day and talk to an old woman, who was crying (nice touch), and tell her that her sins were forgiven and she was healed. Well, that could have been a plant for all I know, someone bought and paid for to be "healed." I just don't know. And I'm tired. I'm not that old, but it seems that all I've ever done is wait.
Hey, it's Tuesday and I've got two more hours till dinner. Messiahs are great if you're one (though they seem to die young), but for us regular guys, I don't know.
I go home, I watch the sun set and say my prayers, hoping that when the sun rises our hope will rise with it. Tomorrow, we'll see. The sun will rise. The LORD will provide. But I am tired.
Some Rabbi, may have even been Jesus, said that when we put our heads down on the pillows we should with our heads also lay our hearts in the hands of the LORD.

It's Tuesday of Holy week, a long way from Easter and a long way from the hope to which Easter points. If you're tired, watch the sun set, lay your head on the pillow and your heart in the hands of the LORD, and then, when the sun rises, look to the faithfulness of the LORD.

Holy Week resources

Some links I've found helpful and interesting for holy week:
Scripture Readings Online
Holy Week at the Piper's (Lenten Lights)
This is Holy Week
Stations of the Cross

Monday of Holy Week

I am Monday of holy week, day of numbness.

Yesterday I cheered the King of kings on the back of a baby donkey. But man, He did some weird stuff.

Today I don't know if I'm coming or going. The week is up and running, and it's running over my toes. I catch myself staring a lot. I think, "King of kings?" And the voice in my head always says it like a question: "kings?" And I remember what he looked like, bobbing up and down, smiling like a goof, laughing. He pumped His fist a few times and shook a lot of hands. People were singing and cheering and hugging each other.

It felt like the story in the old books when the fathers built the bad cow-gods and "rose up to play." If it weren't for the children and the scowling old men I'd say we were on the verge of celebrating a brand new god (forgive me). But there he sat, yellowing cloak and threadbare coat. His thick, throaty beard napped and dirty.

Then, children and women and everyone around, He gets off the donkey, closes his eyes and yells. Like, I mean, yells. Rage. Then he runs at one of the guys by the temple, selling stuff. He pushes him and yells, "Get out!" He grabs something from his coat and starts knocking stuff over and whipping the animals and kicking things. The whole time He's yelling. Some of it I get and some I don't. "Prayer," he yells. "Thieves," he yells. That one I get.

Then, when everything is over, he stands there. Now everyone is ticked off. I'm ticked off. My heart is racing, like, "Who's going to do something? Someone should stop him. Should I stop him?" The old men ask him something and He responds. They look really mad and walk away like, "It's on now."

He grabs his donkey's rope and walks through the crowd. We all stand there and watch. Who is this guy? Are we seeing the back of God, like Moses? (blessed be he) Would the back of God be dirty? Dust darkening from His thighs down to his sandaled feet?

A few other guys follow him at a distance. Their heads are down and they look a little skittish, like guys trying to back out of a fight safely. But he just tromps off, dead to the world. Behind me these old men swear and yell out some curses. A sheep runs in front of me and down an alley, free now.

Today I stare, numb. What was that? I just keep thinking, "What was that? What did I see?"

This is supposed to be a good time. I have family coming into town. Normally we all have the holiday jitters at work, lots of standing around talking about stuff, sharing generously from our generously packed lunches. Today we are quiet. We avoid each other. I am eating lunch alone.

Was that God? We've been asking that question for so long, it seems. I say the words in my heart and they fall flat like fish when it hits you in the back (we do that for fun sometimes). Like all the God-hope's gone out of the lining of my heart and now the cheers make me sick. Not sick in my belly, but in my gut.

I am Monday, day of numbness. Is Jesus of Galilee our King? Is our King the Son of God? Is the Son of God the LORD? What do I do today? I replay the strangeness of yesterday; I ask those gut thinning questions; I stare.

Today, stare. Stare at the back of the Jewish handyman and wonder.

its loyalty to itself

Wow. Another iMonk homerun! He responds to some comments made by Pastor John MacArther regarding suits (yes, those kind of suits) and contextualization.

Here's a well-phrased commentary that sums up the general angst I heard in the appeals made by fundamentalist leaders to "stay." Summary phrase? Its loyalty to itself. Ouch!

At the end of the day, these comments seem to reflect the turn of the century, fundamentalist, separationist Baptist roots so many of us grew up in; a tradition that was highly reluctant to see and admit its own distinct culture; a culture that could have dress codes, rules, traditions and meanings, yet simply said they were being “Biblical.” A tradition that condemned many good things and still does in maintenance of its loyalty to itself. A culture that resents the fact that a newer generation of serious, Biblical evangelicals aren’t making the same choices about church and culture.

The Meaning of a Suit: A Response to John Macarthur’s Comments on Contextualization

Eugene Peterson, a wild-eyed, scroll-eating, bear-whistling beast of a prophet with gall enough to call it pastoring, delivers straight, xxx proof gospel right to the kisser of our marketing mouths. I love the man and look forward to worshiping the Lamb with him. Hear him here, pastor friends, and use the links below to get into him a little. Then get into him more.

I think the besetting sin of pastors, maybe especially evangelical pastors, is impatience. We have a goal. We have a mission. We're going to save the world. We're going to evangelize everybody, and we're going to do all this good stuff and fill our churches. This is wonderful. All the goals are right. But this is slow, slow work, this soul work, this bringing people into a life of obedience and love and joy before God. (Spirituality for All the Wrong Reasons, Christianity Today)

[I'll be honest. I don't get this stuff. I can't hardly understand it. That's how soaked I am in my culture and how confused I am by all the young, old, practical, theological voices in my head.]

Wikipedia entry
Mars Hill Review Interview
Web Cast from National Pastor's Convention
Eugene Peterson on Pastoral Ministry