Righteousness Through Membership

They answered him, "We are Abraham's descendants and have never been slaves of anyone. How can you say that we shall be set free?"

Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. . . . I know you are Abraham's descendants. Yet you are ready to kill me, because you have no room for my word. I am telling you what I have seen in the Father's presence, and you do what you have heard from your father."

"Abraham is our father," they answered.

"If you were Abraham's children," said Jesus, "then you would do the things Abraham did.” (John 8:33–34 and 37–39)

This passage illustrates the ancient Jews’ habit of claiming righteousness through mere membership. We can leave aside for the moment their apparent forgetfulness about slavery. They had been slaves in Egypt for 400 years, enslaved by other empires since, and were now dominated by the Roman Empire.

But Jesus makes clear in this passage (which includes verses 8:33–41) that being a member of a group, even if it’s “the people of God,” does not guarantee freedom from sin. Indeed, a people can be absolutely deceived: the Devil is actually your father, Jesus tells them. This, we can bet, enraged the Israelites. They had been building up national and ethnic pride for several centuries since their return to the land from Babylon. This pride included a rather new, rigid intolerance against foreigners, beginning to resemble Indian upper castes’ distaste for the lower caste “Untouchables.” The Jews knew they were “the people of God.” That is the opposite of being a slave to sin, isn’t it?

Application time: We can have the same problem, of course. Pride in our nation or our neighborhood. But when Judgment Day comes, I don’t think the Lord’s going to consider these things values of righteousness: the U.S.A., Great Britain, Iraq, or Belleview Estates, etc. Pride in our church can be a similar snare. Doesn’t it count for something that I belong to a church willing to take a difficult stand, a church both traditional and Charismatic? Good things, surely, but mere membership is not a guarantee of freedom from sin.

When I ponder where “righteousness through membership” has temptation for me, I think it has to do with my family. Finally, at the age of 42, I got married. Now I have kids. The temptation is to feel, Now I’m somebody; now I am worthy to “speak in the assembly of men.” Look at these beautiful kids; could God not favor someone he has blessed so richly? But I have to admit that such an attempt at righteousness probably amounts to “filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6). Marriage and kids are far from filthy rags, but my attitude about them could be, if I’m not careful.

Instead, we know from Jesus’ other teachings that righteousness comes from God’s grace. But we have a part too. In John 8 he teaches that freedom from sin comes from doing this: Follow the light of the world (v. 12), believe who Jesus says he is (24). Do what he commands, and thereby be his student. Then we will know the truth, and the truth will set us free (31).

I find it enlightening that Jesus teaches that doing must precede knowing, which is the opposite of what our culture teaches. But that is another meditation for another time.

Amish Friendship Bread

Do you know about this phenomenon? This Amish Friendship Bread thing?

I first heard about it from an aunt who lives in Baton Rouge. She’s not a baker, so that was the first tip-off that this was something different. And then she kept telling me stories about baking this bread every weekend because people loved it and were asking her to make more, please.

Then it started showing up at COA, these yummy, dense, sweet-yet-tart loaves of bread that people loved to eat! Turns out that a cadre of what must be Amish friends were making this bread and bringing it to various events. So when one of them (OK, Sherri) sent out a broadcast that she had Amish Friendship Bread starter to share, I raised my hand.

Here’s how it works. You get a freezer bag containing this starter, made of yeast, flour, sugar, and milk. You hold on to it for a certain number of days, allowing it to ferment, mushing it daily. (Yes, mush. Technical term, I think.) Then you add more flour and sugar and milk, and allow it to ferment another number of days, still mushing daily. At the end of the allotted fermentation time, you go through steps that creates starter to share, and then you make your bread from your reserved starter. And then you try to find people to give the starters to.

Who knew?

OK. I’m the kind of person who makes plans to take a business trip and forgets that I have a dog that needs care while I’m gone. The kind of discipline it takes to mush daily and bake every ten days or so is almost beyond me. I am a responsible person—just barely.

But I confess that watching this stuff ferment is fascinating. It bubbles and grows, filling the bags with air, ultimately yielding enough batter to begin the process all over again. Watching it grow made me wonder, “How could you stop this?”

Not just how I could stop this endless procession of creating, growing, splitting, baking, and distributing. But the yeast! How can it keep growing and multiplying? The sweet, tangy smell of the fermentation fills the kitchen. It touches everything and is virtually indestructible. The key is that it needs to be fed and nurtured. (Remember the sugar, flour, and milk?) If it’s not nurtured or fed, it will stop growing.

Yeast is used in scripture as an object lesson. We all remember that at Passover, yeast (and all leavening) is cleansed from every household. It reminds celebrants that there was no time for bread to rise when the Israelites fled Egypt—a reminder of God’s deliverance. Leavenings are pervasive and powerful and hard to eliminate. Yet once a year, yeast was to be purged out of their lives.

The New Testament also used the imagery of yeast. We think of it mostly as an image of sin. It’s very effect. Sin touches everything. Once begun it’s virtually indestructible. Paul wrote: Your boasting is not good. Don't you know that a little yeast works through the whole batch of dough? Get rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth. (1 Corinthians 5:6-8)

Jesus warns the disciples to beware of the yeast (bad teaching and hypocrisy) of the Pharisees and Sadducees (Matthew 16:6-12). It’s a sort of comical exchange where the disciples thought Jesus was hungry and Jesus was trying to make a point. Consider how yeasty bad teaching is. Or hypocrisy. It ferments and grows and touches everything.

But then in a remarkably hopeful parable, he offered this: "What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." (Luke 13:20-21)

The kingdom of God is like a yeast. How does a yeast grow? It is fed and nourished, tended until it is worked all through the dough. The kingdom of God will grow and flourish and touch every part of our lives? Every part of our world? What will the kingdom of God touch? Who does the tending and nourishing? What makes it grow?

I’m not sure. I’m one of those who would have had a puzzled look when Jesus offered this parable. But you know, now every time I watch a bag of Amish Friendship Bread starter bubble and grow, I will remember that the kingdom of God is like yeast and that I am part of that kingdom.

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving us such homely images to understand your richest gifts. Illuminate my mind to understand your words and to grow in their truth. Thank you.

More

3 "You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
4 "You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
5 "You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
6 "You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
7 "You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'carefull,' you find yourselves cared for.
8 "You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
9 "You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
10 "You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
11 "Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. 12 You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble. (Matthew 5:3–12)

I love how The Message renders these familiar verses. End of my rope. At times I have found myself there. Desperate dependence. Most often I am not there, perhaps because I have several reliable methods of avoidance and distraction. I think it’s a good way to live if you don’t view desperation as an enemy. A well known song says “I’m desperate for You”—Really?

Do you ever sing songs in church, (or look at the words) and think “I’m not quite there, and, there are things in the way, but somewhere down deep I want to be there?” How about the one that says “You’re all I want . . .” Yes, I’m desperate . . .

When I feel I’ve lost what’s most dear to me. Been there a time or two. Not so much. I fear many play at this during Lent. Me too. What seems most dear, most of the time? A few of you have been there. A few of you are there or not far from there now . . .

Embraced . . . “he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him..”; “well done, good and faithful . . . ”; (what words do you long to hear, maybe that you aren’t sure He’ll say?)

And this takes me to verse 6, “worked up a good appetite,” hunger and thirst. This journey toward Jerusalem, toward the cross, if there is anything honest about it, however halting, it works up a good appetite—for more, for release, for celebration. An appetite for the surprise of resurrection, an appetite for stunning glimpses of the kingdom of God here now, an appetite for the feast of all feasts at the marriage of the Lamb . . .

Oh, I skipped verse 5, "content with just who you are"—wow, that seems just impossible. Or more accurately, how on earth can I be desperate and content?! That’s a strange miracle and paradox of the cross, isn’t it: Intense insatiable longing, inexcusable guilt and soul-stilling rest and release.

In all I’m grateful that I don’t need to manufacture this, muster it up. He arouses and uncovers this in me. Always more . . .

New Beginnings

Okay, I just want to tell you that I had a most incredible weekend.

As you may already know, our Student Ministry teamed up with two of our ADV sister churches (Church of the Word and St. Paul's) for a winter retreat at Massanetta Springs. Julian Dobbs spoke on "Getting connected with God" while I was given the privilege of leading worship for the weekend. The general consensus among the leaders was that it was the best retreat we've had in years. This post will be a testimony of what happened there and won't have much to do with Lent. I just think this is really important.

The reason it was great was that the Holy Spirit came and ministered in power throughout the weekend, especially on Saturday night. Julian gave a powerful teaching about being connected with the Holy Spirit and allowing Him to work in our lives. Then we moved into an extended time of worship and prayer ministry, something which has been conspicuously absent from our student ministry for many years. Needless to say, the outpouring was tremendous. As I played, I saw lives being changed right before my eyes. Many of our students received the baptism of the Holy Spirit and those who had already received it were given a greater portion. The floor was littered with students as they fell under the anointing. After a couple hours (I think. I actually have no idea how long it was), we wrapped up the music and I went forward to get my portion and promptly get knocked down under the weight of glory. ;-)

To illustrate the global change, on Friday night I noticed only one or two hands raised during worship, but by Sunday morning more than three quarters of the students felt free to do so. What an amazing victory! I am so proud of our students and I love each one of them to death. I have been praying for this for so long and am downright thrilled to actually see the results. I pray that our students will continue to grow in this anointing and never forgot what God did on this retreat. I praise God for giving them the boldness to step out and allow Him to work in them with such abandon. Thank You, thank You, thank You, Lord. You're awesome!

And, to top it all off, this all happened on my birthday. Plus, it was my final send-off before going away to Toronto for Ministry School. I honestly cannot think of a better birthday/going away present.

Next time, I'll posting from Toronto . So stay tuned, same bat-time, same bat-channel . . .

What's Your Dominant Reality?

If you didn’t get a chance to hear it live this past weekend, by all means slide your mouse over to the Sermons column and listen to The Rev. Jim Hobby speak on the Great Commission. When you do, see if you can pick up one sentence he used, primarily as connecting material, that has caught itself in my brain-folds for this week of Lent III—speaking of the early chapters of Genesis, he said “Sin was the dominant reality.” There’s so much in those five words: sin wasn’t always the dominant reality, but had become so; God acted because in spite of His desires His people had “become something else” (see last Monday’s entry) and required a corrective; sin was the dominant but not the only reality; God’s best isn’t always winning.

When sin is the dominant reality, then—what? A recent book now moving up the Amazon charts declares in the title that it’s God’s Problem. Specifically, according to the author, since “the Bible fails to answer our most important question,” that makes it God’s problem. It’s worth considering whether a.) this actually is “our most important question” (what about "what's going to happen when I die?"), and b.) whether the Bible fails to answer it, but for many people who are suffering, sin is very definitely their dominant reality. This of course is NOT to accuse the suffering of simply receiving their just reward because of their sin(s); the victims of others’ sinfulness suffer just as much. But either way, as it’s of our making, it’s our problem, not God’s.

For most of us, sin wasn’t always the dominant reality. Who among us can’t remember a time, however distant, however brief, when things seemed to be going pretty well, when we knew that God was smiling on us personally? But then, _______ [you can fill in the blank for yourself or others, but for whatever reason, the outcome was the same] and we began to experience the consequences of stepping off the path. Most of us have a very clear memory of how God stepped in—very personal for each of us, yet utterly consistent in His desire and determination that we return.

As we come to realize the difference and the distance between our desires and His, we enter into that oscillation between doing what He wants and doing what we want. On the way, we realize that what we really want is to want what He wants, but success only comes in fits and starts. And so it goes, sometimes for a long, long time—in this way, our dominant reality shifts, sometimes unnoticeably, sometimes jarringly. Lent provides a wonderful opportunity to recognize the moment when the pendulum of our shifting reality changes direction, to narrow its swing, and in the process to realize our desire—our need—to want what He wants. God’s best for us isn’t always winning, but ultimately will always win out. If we can’t do this on our own, yet we aren’t helpless—we can look honestly at our dominant reality, we can decide what we want it to be, we can do our best to be more like Him, and we can rely and depend on the One who wants that more than we do. We can do it; He will help!

Lord, You help us to see the distance between us and You in so many ways. We thank You for this knowledge, though we don’t often feel particular grateful to have it. We know for sure that whatever first distracted us, we left the path because we decided to, so in this season of preparation we ask You to help us want what You want more than we want what we want. We ask for this because we know how much it needs to happen and we know we can’t do it without You—in fact, we can’t even want it without You. We bless you because we also know for sure that You thought of us long before there was anyone here to think of You, and that nothing we can do will cause You to give up on us, now or ever. You are God, we are Your children, and we are truly and eternally grateful. Amen.

Lent - A Celebration of Jesus' Mission Life

Lent is a celebration of Jesus’ mission life as He walked to the cross—a reminder of what He did for us—He died for us, but He also prayed for us, loved us, and led many to His Father. He died to His human self and only did what He saw His Father do. I must die to myself in order to be able to hear Him and to follow in His footsteps.

So, what does that actually mean? Last year I gave up chocolate, but as soon as Lent was over I ate chocolate—not much different than holding my breath for 46 days. (Who said that Lent is only 40 days?) My “self” did not die.

I think I’m getting it. Lent is a time to help me remember . . . but if I really want to DO the work of the Father, a part of me will actually have to die—not pop back up after 46 days. For me, that probably means allowing God to show me the ways I do not submit to the authority that He has put me under: speed limits, no little refrigerator in my classroom, things like that. If I do not submit to an authority I can actually see, then how can He trust me to submit to His authority? He has gently whispered to me that I needed to bring that little refrigerator home and that I need to obey the speed limits—and not just for 46 days.

The refrigerator came back home and He has blessed me by opening up my classroom as an amazing mission field. Almost daily, I have an opportunity to share Him with one of my students—and yes, it’s a public school.

What about my driving? Well, He has blessed me with peace. I drive the speed limit. At first, I had to remind myself to slow down every 50 feet (literally). For you, Lord . . . But I felt so terrible for the poor people who got stuck behind me on the winding roads out in Clifton, where I live, and decided that I would just pull over and let them pass me. But then more would come. . . . The Lord told me: “Pray for my sheep on this road.” So, the streets on which I drive are now a mission field—endless opportunities to pray for all the people in their cars all around.

Thank you, Precious Jesus. You have shown me how to do the work of the Father—and you are allowing me to do just a tiny bit of it. It has been my heart’s desire.

Lent. A time to remember that if I want to follow Jesus to the cross, I must do as He did, in submission to His Father's authority: pray for those He sends to me, love the ones He loves, and then lead those He has placed in my life—my mission field—to His Father.

Forgiveness reflections # 2

How quick are you to forgive people who have hurt your feelings, offended you, lied about you, falsely accused you, said things about your husband or wife, your child or your closest friend that have really upset you? Are you as ready to say ‘O God, heal them, Father bless them, touch them’—or are you still holding on to your pain or resentment?

In 1945 the world was brought face to face with the horrific scenes of the Nazi concentration camps through newsreels and the printed media. Nail marks are still visible in the gas chamber walls of Auschwitz concentration camp where Jews had tried to claw their way out of the suffocating death chambers into which they were herded. After arriving on the trains from the ghettos or other places and being gassed, their hair was cut off and used to stuff cushions. If their teeth had any gold fillings they were wrenched out with pliers–if there were any tattoos on their skin, the skin was carefully peeled off to make lamp shades–if there was any fat on their body at all, which was most unlikely, the fat was taken to make soap and then their bodies were incinerated into ash and sold for fertilizer. From arriving off the train to the point where their ash was available as fertilizer took a mere one and a half hours.

The words that follow are from a prayer that was found in the clothing of a dead child at Ravensbruck concentration camp.

O Lord, remember not only the men and woman of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all of the suffering they have inflicted upon us: Instead remember the fruits we have borne because of this suffering, our fellowship, our loyalty to one another, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown from this trouble. When our persecutors come to be judged by you, let all of these fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.

Nailed to the cross, Jesus cried out–Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.

The cross of Jesus–amazing love, how can it be that you my God should die for me? . . . but because you have–bold I approach the eternal throne and claim the crown through Christ my own.

From the New Zealand Prayer Book, page 576b:

God of infinite mercy, grant that we who know your pity may rejoice in your forgiveness and gladly forgive others for the sake of Jesus Christ our Savior, who is alive with you and the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.