gospelmind

seeing life through the lens of the Gospel

Reading the Bible (3)

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Once we intend to become saturated in the Word, where do we turn? In bygone centuries this was an easy question. You went to church. There were no written manuscripts of the Bible available; anyway, chances were you couldn’t read. So communities gathered to hear the Word presented in the liturgy—weekly, or even daily.

They had a certain advantage—there was nothing else to hear. They did not have cell phones buzzing, newspapers proclaiming current events, televisions blaring advertisements. Mostly they had quiet. So the Bible was the only word they had to consider.

But we have a certain advantage—the words of Scripture are readily available to us, in a multitude of translations and presentations. We can pull up passages on our phones, listen to recordings, read in the most comfortable language.

The work comes in choosing to listen, every day—and really listen. This requires a plan, for unlike our forebears we have plenty of media demanding our attention. To give undivided, quiet attention to the Word takes a certain amount of effort—but not strain. Strain, in fact, is exactly what we must avoid.

The particulars will vary from person to person, but in general we will each need to consider a few factors: time, place, pace, and margin.

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Reading the Bible (2)

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The Bible refuses to be used for instant satisfaction. The pages won’t be handled as a technical manual or an index for life principles. The Word won’t budge, any more than you would if a perfect stranger asked for your intimate secrets. That, you’d insist, only comes with time. And commitment.

Unfortunately, unlike you, the Bible will not protest when prodded and used. And, like teenagers who think holding hands and necking sounds the depths of intimacy, we often don’t know there’s more to reading the Word than pulling verses and tidy rules out of the text. We have no idea what a steady faithfulness to absorb and sit under the Word will do for us.

That is the kind of knowledge that can only be handed down, elder to younger, parent to child—and was in fact meant to be. Moses charged Israel to center parenting around oral repetition and saturation of the Word. Any young Jew of Jesus’ day would have memorized at least the Torah, if not the Writings and Prophets as well. This was a way of life, handed down with the assumption that the blessed life could only be understood from within.

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Reading the Bible (1)

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Superficiality is the curse of our age. The doctrine of instant satisfaction is a primary spiritual problem. The desperate need of today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people.

- Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline

 

Modern Christians reading the Word have been drilled into practicing a daily “quiet time.” We expect we will “get something out of it”—daily. Each and every time we open the Bible, we must get some kernel of encouragement, or doctrine, or a glowing worship experience. That fruit—given in 15 minutes or less—is our proof that we have met God.

In reality this is problematic. Much of our “quiet time” leaves us grasping for a product: a verse that didn’t move us, but probably should have; a command we’re not sure how to apply, but seize upon; a story which may or may not have relevance for our situation, but we can force to prooftext a conclusion we had already made. Instant gratification, when applied to Scripture, is a wretched hermeneutic.

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God's Goodness, part 1

Last night I reached a breaking point in my heart. We do this occasionally—only so long can we carry a burden of pain and sorrow before it spills out everywhere, one direction or another. Mine spilled out into prayer, and it took the form of unusually direct prayer: I asked for what I wanted, without apology. Generally speaking, when I do not know a desire is God's will, I try to add as many conditionals as possible to my prayers. "If it's your will... I might be wrong, so if this is good... This is my perspective, but if it's not yours..."

But last night I simply asked for what seemed good to me. No conditionals. Not that I was demanding; but it seemed right to lay out what seemed good to me as clearly as possible.

Now, here was the striking thing: I realized that I was asking with fear, not with faith. My deepest emotion, if you pulled it up and stated it as a proposition, was: "I want this very deeply, therefore God will take it away (for my good)." In fact, this belief has been operating quietly in my heart for as long as I can remember. I think a good many of the conditionals in my prayers have come from this place of fear—ask for what you want, but don't let God know just how badly you want something, because then he will surely deny it. After all, it has become an IDOL—and what better for you than to take away your idols?

There is a sort of logic here. We need to love God most of all; check. Things we want deeply can often become idols; check. We have a hard time letting go of idols; check. God loves us and wants us to love him; check. ERGO, God will seize and destroy all the things we want most deeply so that we can love him alone. QED.

But there is a hidden premise in this argument, and a hidden belief in many of our hearts: God prefers to teach us to love him by withholding things from us.

Really? Is this Biblical? Or is it more of the same lie that we heard so long ago in the Garden: "Did God really say you can't eat of any tree in the Garden?"

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Filed under  //   God   grace   love  

Homecoming and Withdrawal

"What we lose in homecoming is not the objects of our attachment, nor even our care for them. In fact, our care grows toward true love, love that sees and appreciates all things in the world for what they are. What we lose is the attachment itself, the strength of our addictive behavior in relation to these objects, the way we make gods of them. But we feel no real consolation when we experience the inevitable withdrawal symptoms that accompany letting go our attachments. There is real pain here."

--Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, p. 96

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REVIEW: Convergence: Breaking the Ice

Recently I had the chance to speak at a Christian high school for their spiritual emphasis week. It was a great experience. I chose to speak all week about Telling the Gospel Story to ourselves, each other, and the world. I wanted to convey that we need to read our lives through the lens of God's Story, to tell ourselves the True story. The principal kindly (but with some concern) asked me to clarify—what's with the emphasis on story? He was, understandably, concerned by that word.

There is a movement of Christians who call themselves emergent, emerging, new, (insert other trendy title here). It's very hard to give definitions about these groups because they eschew definitions and categories. But all of them are deeply influenced by post-modernism, a worldview which maintains (among other things) that we are so deeply entrenched in our particular context, so limited in our vision, that we cannot possibly get to Absolute Truth. Truth remains forever beyond our grasp, so we must content ourselves with CREATING meaning rather than discovering it. (That's a exceedingly brief introduction and washes over a lot of nuances, but it'll do for right now.)

So, post-modern Christians often end up focusing on story because there is no where else to go; we can't really know what God said, the Bible can't be fully true, it's more important to deal with our feelings and stories than theology, etc. (Again, too brief to do their position justice. I'm summarizing, not giving a complete critique. These people aren't stupid and deserve a fair hearing.)

Here's the thing—while I don't agree with their conclusions, the post-moderns are right about some things. We *are* largely trapped within our vision, our interpretations. We *are* constantly narrating our experience to ourselves. We do not come to life as a Given Set of Facts, which we know or don't. One of the key truths about humans is that we are story-tellers. We pick out facts, weave them together, and find meaning. We make metaphors, create order, find sense. Constantly.

But God made us this way, with an ability to tell TRUE stories, or FALSE ones. And He stepped into the story, and became the Lead Actor, so that the most true version of any person's story must be told as a chapter in the story of the Lamb Who Was Slain. If I am going to tell myself the truth, I have to tell myself the Gospel, and read the events in my life through that lens. I have to tell myself the story of the God Jesus reveals, the Life Jesus gives, the community He creates. My story is His story. I have access to Truth because Truth steps into my story and makes it His.

That is, essentially, the purpose of "Breaking the Ice," a DVD small group resource in the "Convergence" series. Hosted by Don Miller (author of "Blue Like Jazz" fame), each episode consists of a conversation between a theologian/pastor/writer and Miller. The conversations ramble, take tangents, flow—and along the way raise a lot of good questions.

In this entry, Miller talks with Phyllis Tickle, an author/theologian responsible for the recent "Ancient Practices" series. They tackle the topic of Story—do our stories matter? Why should we tell them? What effect do they have on us, on others?

If you are looking for a DVD that will provide answers in a systematic, clear way, don't bother. This will annoy you. But if you are looking to spark conversation about interesting, important topics, this could do the trick. While Miller and Tickle share bits of their stories, and wax philosophical about narrative and place and other literary devices, they touch on deeply important questions that people in community need to learn to ask one another.

For example, Tickle points out that even in the most bland of stories—"I got to the bus station and the bus had already gone"—we pick out *that* event, *those* details because they contain emotion. If the listener pushes a little bit ("What did that feel like? Why did that stick out for you?") they can unearth far deeper issues. And that is how we come to know one another—by listening to our stories with an ear tuned for the Story beneath the story.

It's also in story-telling that we unearth the unspoken value systems we inhabit. In story-telling we reveal who we believe ourselves to be, who we think God is, how we think life is supposed to run.

A skilled small group leader will be able to use this resource to prompt the community to go deeper, explore their narratives and ask important questions. Most importantly, the leader can easily take the discussions to the Gospel—given that we are creatures who tell ourselves stories, how can we tell ourselves and others the True story? How can we weave our narrative into God's larger narrative?

I'd recommend this resource to groups who feel ready to step into knowing one another better and learning to make distinctions between true and false narratives, learning to tell God's story. But groups should be aware that this is not a Bible study; this is not teaching, in the traditional sense. It can, however, prepare the group to more deeply engage Bible study when they get to it.

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ENGAGING WITH IDEAS: Thoughts on being a humble and discerning thinker

A friend of mine read a blog post I put up this morning, where I recommended a DVD with a conversation between Donald Miller and Phyllis Tickle. He gently pointed out to me that not all of Tickle’s work seems orthodox—at least on some topics, what she has to share is problematic at best.

I don’t disagree with that assessment. In fact, while we’re on the subject, not all of what Donald Miller says is easy to digest. He strays a bit outside of orthodoxy himself at times.

So why, then, did I recommend for small groups something that features both of them?

Because it’s good.

It’s important to remember that people are flawed and short-sighted. The best theologians miss things. People who reject truth vehemently get things right. When we’re on a quest to understand God’s truth, we need (among others) at least two character qualities: humility and discernment.

Humility prepares us to welcome truth wherever we find it. Rather than rejecting writers and teachers wholesale because they get (even important) things wrong, we have a willingness to understand their ideas with fairness before we evaluate them. We do them the favor of listening completely.

But that doesn’t mean we’re not careful. Discernment means that, once we have understood, we evaluate to the best of our ability whether the ideas cohere with God’s Word. Even if they seem not to, we don’t write the person off as stupid (humility!). But we are careful to build our lives only on foundations that we are able to see stemming from the Gospel. And this doesn’t just apply to people we suspect are off. It applies to everyone, including ourselves. The book of Acts commends the Bereans for searching Paul’s message by the Old Testament writings, thinking carefully to see if he was in accord with God’s truth. But they listened carefully, too.

In that vein, here are a few thoughts on what it means to be a humble and discerning reader:

  1. Everyone is wrong somewhere. Let’s just get that on the table. Anyone who tries to express truth, will miss something someplace.
  2.  That includes you. It’s really helpful, as a reader, to remember that you might be wrong. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible to find truth; it just means, don’t be arrogant.
  3. Listen/read the way you’d want others to treat you. If you were trying your best to speak the truth, and got something way wrong, how would you want your reader to respond? Your listener? Be honest. You’d want them to know you were wrong, but you’d want to be treated with grace. And you’d want them to keep listening to the stuff that is right.
  4. Expect to find truth in weird places. The writers who have most helped me in my Christian walk have often been deeply opposed to Christianity (Ayn Rand, Iris Murdoch, Plato) or [I believe] wrong in important ways (Annie Dillard, Marilynne Robinson, Simone Weil, Kathleen Norris, Charles Taylor). Where they are wrong, I try to learn from their mistakes. Where they are right, though, is in places that often evangelical Christianity doesn’t get to see.
  5. Expect to find lies in weird places. No writer gets it all right, as we said before. So that means, even with the pastors/teachers you like most, consider whether what they are saying is, in fact, in line with God’s Word. Don’t just take stuff on the fact that they’ve been good so far. Engage thoughtfully.
  6. Understand that communicating to a broad audience is really hard. Many times, the nuances of what we are trying to say get lost in the medium. Plato distrusted writing for this very reason: you can’t ask questions of the text and get clarification. What’s written/said is done, and unless you can find the author you can’t have them say it a different way. But lots of times we need people to say things a different way. Think of how many times you have to adjust in a conversation because someone isn’t quite getting what you’re saying. Many times, a pastor/teacher/writer is not wrong, they’re just talking to somebody else in a way that doesn’t sit well with you. If you could converse you might discover more agreement than you initially believed. Try to get to the intentions of the author, and give them the benefit of the doubt.
  7. Give it time. Even today I was reading a book and came across a Scriptural interpretation that I did not like—and an hour later I finally understood what the writer was saying and agreed. Sometimes it takes way longer. Years later I’ll return to a book and find that I can now understand the nuances of what the writer is saying.
  8. Try to augment, if possible. If someone is writing or speaking, it is because they have a message. But not the whole message. No one can say everything. And sometimes authors leave out very important qualifications or considerations, or fail to make connections that are crucial. Many times what looks wrong is just incomplete, and if you can supply the missing subtleties, you can unearth great truths. Give pastors and writers a break; they can’t see every angle.
  9. Ask other people how something strikes them. You might just not understand. It happens.
  10.  In the end, accept only what seems to mesh with the Gospel—but still try to understand the rest. That may mean that there are whole areas of thought that you cannot bring to complete conclusion. That’s alright. Many people, much smarter than you or I, couldn’t either. There is enough clear truth in the Bible to start building a life on; the rest will come as it does. But only if you have the humility to draw the line between what you do understand, and what you don’t. If you don’t fully understand, don’t be quick to write ideas off.


I hope that’s helpful. And, by the way, I’m wrong here somewhere.

Filed under  //   reading   thinking   writing  

Spaciousness

"If we do not fill our minds with guilt and self-recriminations, we will recognize our incompleteness as a kind of spaciousness into which we can welcome the flow of grace. We can think of our inadequacies as terrible defects, if we want, and hate ourselves. But we can also think of them affirmatively, as doorways through which the power of grace can enter our lives. Then we may begin to appreciate our inherent, God-given lovableness."

--Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, 31

This, of course, only works if we preach the Gospel to ourselves. We can only avoid guilt and condemnation if we a) deny the weight of our wrongdoing and idolatry and claim that we have no sin ("it's not a big deal!"); or b) accept that God "made Him who knew no sin to become sin, in order that in Him we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Cor 5:21)

So to deal honestly with our defects/idolatries without hating ourselves, we need Christ.

Filed under  //   addiction   grace   quotes  

Addiction and Humility

"Sooner or later, addiction will prove to us that we are not gods."

--Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, p. 20

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Rock Bottom

"To state it quite simply, I had tried to run my life on the basis of my willpower alone. When my supply of success at this egoistic autonomy ran out, I became depressed. And with the depression, by means of grace, came a chance for spiritual openness."

--Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, p. 10

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