gospelmind

seeing life through the lens of the Gospel

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?"

 

Part of what led me, last night, to question this, is the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1-2. This is a familiar story to anyone who grew up in Sunday School:

There's a man with two wives (never mind that, children, moving along): Hannah and Peninah. Peninah (who in my mind was always ugly, warped with bitterness) has many children, and mocks Hannah (young and pretty—I think I got these images from Disney, or flannelgraph) who has none. One year, as they go up to the Tabernacle to offer sacrifices, Hannah reaches her breaking point. She slips away to the presence of the LORD, and pours her heart out, asking for what she deeply desires: a son. After mistaking her for a drunken woman, Eli the priest prays that her desire be fulfilled. God hears and, sure enough, she has a son—Samuel.

There is an interesting detail in this story which I missed as a child. Elkanah, Hannah's husband, says to her in her grief, "Am I not more to you than ten sons?" Interesting. There is a way in which Hannah's desperate grief is all out of tune with her situation. She is deeply loved, regardless of her barrenness (very unusual in that culture). All she can see is her shame, even though the one whose love really counts treasures her. In her somewhat inappropriate grief, she cries out to God to take her inappropriate shame away through an unnecessary child.

And God says yes.

 

How does that fit in with our paradigm? Is this the act of a God who really prefers to teach us by withholding? It seems like God has concern for how Hannah actually feels and the language in which she will be able to receive love. She is broken; she can no longer hear her husband's love; she can only understand her value if she bears a child. And rather than make her suffer long into a realization that she doesn't need a child, God gives her one. And then many more.

This seems like the action of a God who is concerned for Hannah's joy, to the extent that he will give to her the deepest need of her heart. It seems like God is more interested in blessing Hannah tangibly than running her through the grinder. Now, yes, of course, Hannah had to wait and experience much pain before she received her son. But for goodness' sake, her son was Samuel. Her name is in the Bible, as an example of faith. Her name is known everywhere and she is remembered with honor. That's a bit better than getting your first child right when you wanted it.

We are taught that God is working everything for our good. But somehow our assumption is that he will do so by repeatedly beating us over the head. In our inner hearts, we believe that God prefers to grow us through pain. For example, how many times have you heard someone say, "We really only grow in the hard times!" Really? God has nothing to teach us in times of blessing and abundance? He only uses suffering? His entire sanctifying toolkit is torture devices?

I want to explore a different idea—one I think is more Biblical, and therefore more true. What if God prefers to teach us through kindness, abundance, generosity and mercy? What if using pain is something he does only when it is really necessary, but not by default? How would that change the way we see Him? How would that change the way we pray? How would it change our faith and hope in the midst of hardships?

My conviction—which I hope to demonstrate—is that we are better able to accept discipline from a God we believe would prefer not to have to administer it. We are more ready to believe He is doing good in our hardship, when we assume that His normal way is blessing and abundance.

 

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Filed under  //   God   grace   love  
Posted June 16, 2010
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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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Posted April 20, 2010
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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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Posted April 16, 2010
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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.

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Posted April 16, 2010
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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.

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Posted April 15, 2010
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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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Posted April 14, 2010
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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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Posted April 14, 2010
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Understanding and Addiction

"Understanding will not deliver us from addiction, but it will, I hope, help us appreciate grace."

--Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, p. 4

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Posted April 14, 2010
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Addiction and Grace

I am reading Addiction and Grace by Gerald May, a leading Christian psychologist who passed away recently.

Some of these quotes are just too good not to share. So I'm going to post them... hope they provoke some good thought.

"I am not being flippant when I say that all of us suffer from addiction. Nor am I reducing the meaning of addiction. I mean in all truth that the psychological, neurological, and spiritual dynamics of full-fledged addiction are actively at work within every human being...

"We are all addicts in every sense of the word. Moreover, our addictions are our own worst enemies. They enslave us with chains that are of our own making, yet paradoxically are virtually beyond our control.

"Addiction also makes idolaters of us all, because it forces us to worship these objects of attachment, thereby preventing us from truly, freely loving God and one another...

"Yet still, in another paradox, our addictions can lead us to a deep appreciation of grace. They can bring us to our knees."

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Posted April 14, 2010
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Jesus is My Lover, #1

I have gotten a lot of feedback from my sermon on Revelation 19. It seems like God gave words to share that a lot of people needed to hear and process. Me too. Understanding (and feeling!) the passionate heart of Jesus for us is so important and so difficult. 

So I'm going to keep processing it here with you all. I want to be intentional about giving this attention regularly, because it seems we all need it quite a bit. 

To start, I want to share a verse from Song of Solomon that I am turning into a breath prayer.

 

Breath Prayer

We generally think of prayer as a way to ask God for things that we desire or need. Or, perhaps, a way to express our hearts to Him. While these are both certainly important components of a prayerful life, I think we need a fuller definition of prayer.

Simone Weil wrote that prayer is essentially paying attention to God. I think this comes closer to the mark. To attend to something means that we look on it, gaze on it, with our full energy and concentration, in order to see it as it really is. A good student will attend to the problem set before her—she will consider it carefully until she sees it clearly, rather than rushing forward and bungling it.

Prayer, then, is at least in part an effort to see and know God for who He is, rather than reducing Him to the size of our preconceptions. Prayerful attention to God most certainly will overflow into praise, adoration, as well as asking for His help. But it will also involve listening, waiting, beholding Him.

Breath Prayer is one form of prayer that focuses especially on waiting for the presence of God, listening to His words. In this prayer, we choose a short sentence, and repeat it over and over again with the rhythm of our breath. For example:

"Abba / I belong to you."

"Daddy / let me feel your love."

"I am yours / save me."

"You are worthy / of my praise."

We select the sentence based on what we need at the moment, as best we can tell. Then we find a quiet place to sit in God's presence, or go for a walk, and focus on the words with every breath.

After 10-15 minutes, I find that the prayer becomes a quiet background and I am ready to move on to whatever I need to do with my day. But as often as I can, I return my focus to the words of the prayer. In fact I often find myself repeating them quietly without realizing I was doing so.

Breath prayer reminds me of God's continual presence, that He is closer than my breath and just as necessary. It also allows truth to shape my mind, rather than lies—I find it easier to resist condemnation or temptation when I have been meditating on truth all day.

 

I am my Beloved's

Here, then, is the breath prayer I am drawing from Song of Solomon:

"I am my beloved's, and his desire is for me." (7:10) 

The church has long read Song of Solomon as, at least in part, representative of Christ and His Bride's love for one another. Here the Beloved sings that she belongs to her Beloved, and relishes the fact that His desire is for her. 

This is as good a place to start as any. Today (and as often as I can in the near future) I am going to pray these words, again and again: "I am my beloved's, and his desire is for me.". Hard to feel? Yes. Hard to believe? Yes. But it is true. Nothing is more true. So I'm going to say it again and again, and underneath those words the prayer: Let me feel it. Let me know it. Let us all feel it, so deeply that everything in our lives finds its proper place. 

My prayers are with you all today, brothers and sisters, and in a special way with those who are hurting to feel God's love. 

You are your beloved's. And his passionate, matchless desire is for you. 

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Filed under  //   love   practices   prayer  
Posted April 14, 2010
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