The Source of Ministry

Last night in my small group we read Revelation 5, which is one of my favorite chapters in the Bible. In this passage, the triumphant Lion of Judah, who is also a Lamb standing as though slain, is given praise and worship for His ability to save God's people and bring judgment in authority.

An old, old hymn in the Common Book of Prayer, which takes most of its wording directly from Rev. 4–5, communicates the exalted worship being offered the One on the Throne and the Lamb:

Splendor and honor and kingly power
are yours by right, O Lord our God,
For you created everything that is,
and by your will they were created and have their being;

And yours by right, O Lamb that was slain,
for with your blood you have redeemed for God,
From every family, language, people and nation,
a kingdom of priests to serve our God.

And so, to him who sits upon the throne,
and to Christ the Lamb,
Be worship and praise, dominion and splendor,
for ever and evermore.

We spoke at great length last night about the marvelous truth that we are taught here—the Lamb's once-for-all sacrifice has redeemed a people for God, which means that our identity is now different. We are not lost sinners, but the redeemed, those who are reconciled to God. (See 2 Cor 5:17-21, Romans 5:1-11.) We are a kingdom of priests to serve God, but the right and power to do that depends not on us, but on God who gives the ability, the forgiveness.

But what is so vital about this new identity? Particularly, how does this help us to serve God and others practically in our daily lives?

I want to take a hint from Mark, chs. 1-2. In Mark's account of the life of Jesus, nearly at once we are taken to Jesus' baptism. After being baptized by John (Mark omits any mention of John's scruples or feelings of unworthiness—this Gospel has a point to make and it's getting there fast), at once an extraordinary display of God's affirmation and love for Jesus is shown:

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”
—Mark 1:9-11

Well, that's very touching. We get a glimpse into the Trinitarian love-feast that has been going on for all of creation: God the Father is beaming with delight in His Son, who is utterly pleased to be the Son of such a Father, and the Holy Spirit flits back and forth between the two with joy inexpressible to be the communication of such divinely excellent love.

And it's more than touching—it's reassuring in an important way. God is not grouchy or lonely; as a Triune God He is thoroughly happy all the time, and as many theologians have pointed out, this is good news for us. The Heavenly Father is not cranky after a long day's work (shh, don't disturb him, just go to your room and play quietly!). Rather, to enter into His presence is to come to the One who is more happy than any of us ever could know. "Enter into the joy of your master!"

That's practical theology in itself but I want to push further to the connection with Mark 2. Here, Jesus is getting himself into all kinds of trouble with the established religious authorities by being, well, fun. And happy. And we certainly can't have that on the Sabbath, or around sinners. To quote from the text:

And as he reclined at table in [Levi, the tax-collector-turned-disciple]'s house, many tax collectors and sinners were reclining with Jesus and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. And the scribes of the Pharisees, when they saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
—Mark 2:15-17

Now, this is an oft-quoted passage. We hear it often because it is a central theme in Jesus' ministry—to be one who Jesus calls, you must be the broken, the weak, the poor, the needy, not the arrogant, self-assured or self-righteous. "Blessed are the poor in spirit..." and such. And this is true, and good, and absolutely the heart of the Gospel.

But I want also not to miss an important aspect of this passage: Jesus is speaking these words as a man. And he is saying, "I will not go be with the mighty, powerful and collected, who have everything together and need no help."

This should strike us to the core—because we always want to be with those kinds of people. We are drawn to people better than us, naturally. It is nice to be around collected, mature, wise, and mighty people, because a) they ask for nothing from us and b) they give us so much. When we are approved of by someone greater than us (as we see them), then we walk away delighted! We have made it! We have a stamp of approval on our person that holds at bay the nagging fear that we are insufficient or unimportant. "But so-and-so likes me!"

This holds true of the general group we associate with, also. We want our crowd of friends to be the "haves," rather than the "have-nots," we want to be counted among the good and strong and important.

What Jesus is saying in this passage, then, is that, unlike the Pharisees, and unlike us, he needs no prop for his ego. He doesn't need to gather with the strong in order to feel strong. He doesn't need to be liked by the powerful to be sure he's important.

Rather, Jesus has an internal strength of identity that allows him to give and give and give and associate only with those who desperately need him. This is extraordinary! We find it remarkable in the lives of people we have heard of—Mother Teresa, for example. But I fear that we have a tendency to overlook this character in Christ. "Well, yes," we think, "of course he's like that; after all, he is God."

Yes, he is. But he is also a man—and a part of his humanity, like ours, is a need for approval. We are designed to be approved of. ("Well done, good and faithful servant!") So where did Jesus get such strength to avoid our regular sources of affirmation? What was the source of his ministry?

It was, of course, the affirmation of God his Father. Shown forth in the baptism is the clear statement of the reality that Jesus lived—"This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased." Having the strength of God's affirmation, Jesus no longer needed to seek confirmation of his worth from other people. The love of God sprung up in him to be an infinite fountain of love for others, for the weak and poor and unrighteous. Jesus could spend time with the unsavory and unimpressive because he was rooted, deeply, in God's affection.

And this is where the truth of Revelation 5, 2 Corinthians 5 and Romans 5 come in so powerfully. To use the words of the apostle John: "Behold what love the Father has given unto us, that we should be called the children of God! And that is what we are!" (1 John 3:1)

If it is true that Christ has reconciled us to God, and purchased not only pardon but approval, not only forgiveness but also righteousness, then we, too, dwell in the infinite affection of the Lord. We are his beloved people; we are always forgiven and redeemed (and "all this is from God"—2 Cor 5:18). So we, too, have available to us the wealth of love that Jesus made his dwelling place.

The source of Jesus' ministry was an entire certainty of God's approval, which freed him to give and give without fear that he would, in the end, be the loser. He needed not waste time stroking his ego.

We, too, can follow Him. Above I put a picture of the Moravian seal—the emblem of an old Protestant denomination. Around the image of the Lamb standing as through slain are the words, "Our Lamb has conquered—let us follow him."

Indeed, we are to follow him—to follow Him with praise and acclamation, and to follow Him in imitating His ministry and life. But the source of this imitation is not pushing down or ignoring our need for love, affirmation and rest. Instead, the source of ministry is indulging these, glutting them fully, in the now fully-available resources of God's love mediated to us through Christ by the Holy Spirit. We are certain that Jesus has torn down every last bit of sin that would make us undeserving of such love; we are certain that Jesus has clothed us in all His righteousness so that God will delight to lavish us with approval. To the extent that we throw ourselves with confidence on the loving arms of God, we honor the power of Christ to redeem us.

Our Lamb has conquered—let us follow Him.

“Much to be in awe of but nothing to be afraid of”

“Much to be in awe of but nothing to be afraid of” « Of First Importance

“A priest presents God to us; he also presents us to God. He brings together the divine and the human. Priests do not protect God’s holiness from human sinfulness by setting up barriers to access. Nor do priests protect human weakness from divine judgment by arranging ritual defense systems.

The priest opens up routes closed by fear or guilt or ignorance or superstition so that there is access. A priest mediates. He is just as much on God’s side as on our side. He is just as much on our side as on God’s side.

If we aspire after more than we are, a priest promises help. If we regret the mess we are in, a priest promises help. If the Son of Man does the work of priest, there is much to be in awe of but nothing to be afraid of: mediation results in loving union. If the Son of Man does the work of priest, there is much to be repented of but nothing of which to despair: mediation results in gracious forgiveness.”

—Eugene Peterson, Reversed Thunder (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), 33-34

Desiring God Conference

This will be good. The DG people are tacking the ever-so-important topic of the power of our words. This announcement comes at a good time for me because I have been mulling over the importance of the words we speak for some time now, and it strikes me as utterly central to the Christian life. Plus the lineup is great - Sinclair Ferguson, Paul David Tripp (!), Mark Driscoll, and of course Piper.

Who wants to go with me?

Lessons from Monasticism, part 2 - Order

Eveything will be done at the proper time.
-Rule of St. Benedict

The other day I went out and purchased a new book. Not an odd thing for me to be doing, really, except that this book was a bit outside of my usual reading. As I toted home my new copy of Auto Repair for Dummies, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. The most I knew about my car was that it ran, generally. And that I should feed it gasoline and oil so that it would keep running. But beyond this, I had no conception of maintaining my car.

As I've read through the book, I have been confronted with one great truth: it is only by grace that my car runs at all. Over and over again I've seen the words: "This should be changed every 3,000 miles." Or the like. And scratching my head, I've wondered, "Has this been changed ever since I came to college?" Air filter? Brake fluid? Coolant? My car has a radiator?

But the horror of recognizing the terrible life I have imposed on my car has been mixed with the sweet realization that most of this is entirely within my power. Yesterday I changed the oil, and it was easy. What has kept me from doing the same with other parts of my car?

Well, partially ignorance. I really had no idea that cars needed to be maintained, other than washing the exterior. But more is involved in keeping a car maintained. That is, I need a plan. I need to have decided ahead of time that once a month I'll take a look and see that I have washer fluid, examine the wires, belts, filters, etc. I need to kick the tires and check the oil level. But aside from a set plan, this won't happen. I am far too content with the fact that my car presently gets from A to B, to check whether it will continue to do so tomorrow.

This same lesson is a key, central consideration of monasticism. Benedict devotes 13 chapters to a precise (and intense) detailing of daily prayers, and similar scrutiny is given to even the mundane, like the care of tools, the serving of food, the reception of guests. Every area of monastic life is considered; but surprisingly, Benedict does not give rigid rules. His suggestions for the psalmody, for instance, is strongly encouraged, but he ends by saying,

Above all else, we urge that if people find this distribution of psalms unsatisfactory, they should arrange whatever they judge better, provided that the full complement of one-hundred and fifty psalms is by all means maintained each week.

Notice two things here. First, the point is not mindlessly following Benedict's order—one is free to rearrange. But secondly, if the point is not to follow someone else's order without thought, neither is it to have no order. Benedict does not lay out his rule with an iron fist, demanding that every monastery everywhere conform to his exact specifications. He is too wise, too aware of the need for flexibility in human circumstances. But this does not mean that we yield to whatever comes our way; rather, we set an order for our lives that works for where we are.

The monastic is aware that time is rolling relentlessly forward, and that unless one takes great care to order their time it will escape from them, wasted. Kathleen Norris captures this well:

In our culture, time can seem like an enemy: it chews us up and spits us out with appalling ease. But the monastic perspective welcomes time as a gift from God, and seeks to put it to good use rather than allowing us to be used up by it.
- The Cloister Walk

Well-said. But before I leave this topic, I want to offer one last caution: the monastic, and the Christian in general, cannot merely orient their life toward getting things done. To complete tasks is one thing, and fine so far as it goes. But most of us have faced the appalling terrible silence at the completion of a tremendous task: Did that even matter? Now what? For, of course, to get something done is not to get anything done at all. Serving in the ministry has made me deeply aware of this. Not a single goal under my job description can ever be completed. "Equipping saints for the work of ministry"--just what would have to happen for me to clap my hands together and say, "Well, now that's done with! On to the next task!"

Benedict doesn't direct us to order our lives so that we can be productive; he calls for order because it is how we will develop a life of a certain character.

To return to my car-repair: certainly I've done a number of tasks on my car, and even learned many things about how my car works. But of course, having changed my oil this weekend is not to have maintained my car. Were I never to change the oil again, I would find my car coming to a (literally) grinding halt before too long. Maintaing my car is an endless task (until, that is, the Green machine gives up the ghost. But there will be, I suppose, another and hopefully less green car following it).

So the task before me is not to do a mere oil change - it is to order my life such that there are many oil changes, many air filter replacements, many monthly under-the-hood inspections.

Likewise, Benedict wants us to order our time with prayer, work, hospitality and reading so that our lives are characterized by these activities in an ongoing way. One is not going to complete the task of being prayerful; one is prayerful so long as one is praying. And thus we cannot leave the activities up to chance. We cannot leave our lives at the mercy of our daily whims. We have to decide what our lives are to be about, and then create the time for these things purposefully.

Kathleen Norris continues:

Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, oriented toward process rather than productivity, willing to wait attentively in silence rather than always pushing to "get the job done."
-The Cloister Walk

Protestants would be well-served to remember this; too many times we are plagued with fear and doubt during the times of seeming inproductive stillness that God imposes on us from time to time, when He seems to withdraw or we are held back from growth by our sin or circumstances. We want to get the job done; let's get this sanctification thing over with.

On the contrary, Benedict assumes it will take many, many years for us to really even approach the goal we aspire towards. And so our task is to order our time so that we can pay attention to the things that matter and wait. Eventually, if our life is characterized by seeking the face of God, we will find ourselves beholding it, and transfomed.

A brave new world...

... of car repair. Today I fixed some fuses in my car, all by myself, and now have a radio again.

This is not impressive. But I'm pleased with myself. Congratulations, me.