Too Good To Be Made Up

Recently, I've been reading and watching material on the clandestine activities around and after World War II, specifically A Man Called Intrepid and The Trials of J. Robert Oppenheimer. Intrepid was a man named Bill Stephenson, a Canadian airman who, like many involved in covert operations, was omni-talented --a walking treasurehouse of knowledge and intellect who existed in the small and probably-illegal group around Winston Churchill when he was Vice Lord of the Admiralty and then Prime Minister. Oppenheimer was the man behind the bomb who, though no-one could ever prove his disloyalty even after extensive wiretapping and bugging, had early communist associations, and was finally broken when his security clearance was revoked.

Many lessons could be learned from the lives of both men, but the chief lesson I take from both stories is that the truth is often stranger and more interesting than fiction. Fiction always has an artificial ring to it, at least in my ears. I love fiction, but it is not hard to tell that it is fiction, even if there are no fantastic events in the narrative.

Ian Fleming, spy himself and creator of James Bond said of Bill Stephenson, "James Bond is a highly romanticized version of a true spy. The real thing is ... William Stephenson." The events of Stephenson's life, and those of other WWII spies, show us that the truth is stranger than fiction, and more compelling too.

I think about this in regards to the great unfolding story of Scripture --it is simply too good to be made up. It has a lovely internal consistency that spans thousands of years, multiple cultures and authors. It centers on one singular, unique man. Its beginning is the beginning of the world and its end is the end of the world. Its middle is the middle of time --the time from which all other times are dated. It begins with one man and extends to the ends of the earth and ultimately fills the whole cosmos. It describes the world as it is: beautiful and orderly, but horribly broken. It describes us as we are --beings capable of mighty acts of creativity, but horrifically bent towards sin and self --this odd amalgam of great intellect and debased behavior. Oppenheimer himself was a living display of this: an intensely vain and difficult man, a profligate life, an enormous intellect combined with incredible naivete and knowledge that could ultimately end life on the planet. And, it holds out hope --it simply must be true. Humans are creatures imbued with hope --no matter how life is, our default setting is to long for something better. The truth is --something better is out there --a world infinitely better than this: beautiful and not at all broken. And it holds out for us the possibility of being who we were created to be: good, intelligent, lovers of beauty and compassion.

For that to happen, what is broken needs to be fixed. The wrong needs to be judged and destroyed. This happened at the cross, though the fullness of that reality waits the dawning of a new day. I, for one, cannot wait till the wrong in me is finally destroyed, and the wrong in the world is, too.

You Like Me, You Really Like Me....Or Do You?

One of my friends and mentors suggested that the title was hardly scintillating, so I thought i'd give it another go....

I've been thinking about this lately, an observable phenomenon that helps us understand the ability of churches (or any conglomeration of hominids) to incorporate individuals, and bring them in to the circle of love.

I am talking about churches, but the principles really apply across the board to groups of human kinship, and can just as easily apply to circles of friends. This is theoretical, but I hope not boring.

Jesus tells us "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." The Golden Rule. Simple? yes. Difficult? yes. Let's see how.

A group may perceive itself to be friendly and welcoming, but the members of any group are in the worst position to evaluate themselves. The real judge of inclusion is the outsider who is coming in to the group. Sometimes, we set a relatively low bar for ourselves --as long as we allow someone in, we are fulfilling the law of love.

Many churches are very good at welcoming visitors, speaking with various levels of acceptance to newcomers --from at least acknowledging their existence (sadly lacking in many churches) to genuine and sincere questions about the visitor himself (better than simple acknowledgement).

The real test comes in inclusion. Many churches miss this. Inclusion goes beyond simple and even sincere interest. It involves relational depth, by which I mean something quite different than what is often meant in our age in which catharsis is practically elevated to an element of worship. Many churches see themselves as inclusive communities because they sincerely care about those who come in. This is a necessary thing, of course, but it isn't true community.

The inner sanctum of relational depth involves far more. Many churches sincerely want new people, and sincerely welcome them, but find new members drifting away after short periods of time. This can even be seen among various teams and groups within a church --always on the hunt for new blood. New members come in for a time, then fade out.

Many reasons for this, of course. One of the chief reasons I observe is investment. If a group shows itself, either by hostility or simple neglect, to be hostile to the contributions, ideas and thoughts of a new member, that member will quickly grow discouraged and leave. He senses that his acceptance is conditional upon his conforming to established ways of thinking and doing. Now, some of this is required in order to belong to a group. There has to be some sense of identity and his ideas have to be somewhat congruent with the group. The Founding Fathers should not have listened to a Communist (okay, I know, totally mixing my historic periods but I'm tired and sitting in the airport) merely because his ideas were new. He needs to go along a bit, to build some credibility. At the same time, he needs to be let in. Perhaps the Lord is using the new blood to bring in some new ideas, and try some new ways. This can be threatening to the existing power structure, even though their opposition is largely subconscious --simple resistance to the new.

Persons and their ideas are not easily separable. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Wouldn't you want your ideas heard? Wouldn't you want to contribute? If you were encouraged to participate in something new, and were trying to find your footing, would you not want to be valued and accepted?

Value leads to investment, investment leads to security. If we are valued, we invest in a community. If we invest in a community, our joy grows there. If we want our churches to be happy places of kingdom service --true families-- we need to work towards full inclusion of outsiders, and work very hard against being friendly, but ultimately closed, clubs. Cliques, you are officially on notice.

The second random thought is this: inclusion in a group means being given the benefit of the doubt, not being viewed with suspicion. It means that, when you fail and put your foot in your mouth, it's not really noticed because there is underlying love for you as a person. We often think we are inclusive, but we have made full inclusion contingent upon a person's acting and speaking in a particular way --embracing certain perspectives and avoiding others. We have a built in subconscious radar for this sort of thing. People sense very quickly whether or not they truly belong, or whether the "love" they are offered is conditioned on them meeting certain preconditions. When they mess up, or when they say something impolitic, is grace extended, understanding and acceptance, or are they jumped on with both feet.

When you are not given the benefit of the doubt, when you are judged, and when your words are used against you as some estimation of what is true in your heart, you become alienated, and you begin to look for groups where you might fit better.

This is most painful to observe in the church, and very painful to experience yourself, trust me. We all want to fit --most of us are still teenagers at heart, feeling the pain of rejection acutely whether or not we give voice to it. I find it is a reason many churches, even those who attract a visitor stream, fail to grow --we don't easily open the circle of our community, our entrenched identity and values are too fragile. We are sinful, prideful, and insecure. Me included. Lord help me not to be guilty of that which I so clearly see in others.

Grace, Faith, Works, Boast, unto Good Works....

The Reformed churches, it seems, always have some sort of debate raging. The current debate, though it has many other features, largely concerns the place of obedience (or "works") in the Christian life. On one side, some are advocating that the believer's works are somehow included in their justification, not as fruit, but as grounds. This is legalism and needs to be expunged. Ephesians 2:8-9 says "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works, lest any man should boast."

Yet, as often happens, a response and overreaction by incautious pastors and professors arises on the other side, decrying any place for evangelical obedience in the Christian life. The commands of Scripture are disingenuous --they are only designed to show us that we cannot keep them. Application in preaching or any call to the Christian that he "ought, must, or should" is seen to be legalism. The only answer to any question in Scripture can only be "Jesus has done it all."

Now, we must admit from the first that this is a legitimate use of the commands of the Scripture. The Law is designed to show us our inability to keep it, convict us of sin, and cause us to look outside ourselves for our salvation, and to turn to Christ in faith, disabused of any foolish notion that we can contribute anything to our righteousness before God. This is the first use of the Law.

Yet, this fails to reckon with Ephesians 2:10. Indeed, it seems to me that both extremes of this debate avoid that verse. Both sides miss that the selfsame works that fail us in justification are the works that God expects of those he has regenerated. The New Perspective / Federal Vision side of the debate says the works that Paul eschews there are the ancient covenant boundary markers such as circumcision. We are saved by faith apart from boundary markers, but not apart from "Thou shalt not commit adultery," which is very much a part of our righteousness, they will say. This, of course, is denied us by the context. Paul uses the same word "works" to describe the same things that cannot save, but which are expected of those already saved.

You can see this by simply substituting the word "circumcision" for works. "It is by grace you have been saved, through faith...and that not of circumcision, lest any man should boast." Now, that is a true point, and the Jews probably needed to hear it --Galatians addresses such things. Yet, it is in 2:10 where the argument breaks down, "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus, unto circumcision, which God ordained beforehand that we should walk in them." It simply doesn't wash.

The other side (we'll call it anti-nomian, or "anti-law") says works play no place in our lives as Christians. To say they do is to deny the gospel. Some will go so far as to say that preachers who preach commands or imperatives (oughts, musts, shoulds) are legalists and denying the gospel or not preaching grace. This is most grievous to the preacher, and I have counseled dear friends who have faced this charge, and I have faced it myself on occasion. Yet, again this fails the Ephesians 2:10 test. Paul's point is, and I repeat myself, that the same works that can never justify very much are expected of us as Christians. This does not mean we never sin, never fail, never make bad choices, never go headlong into sins and addictions with a high hand --certainly we do. It does not mean that even our best acts are not stained by sin and self --of course they are.

The truth is far more encouraging, and it is simply this: God accepts our imperfect obedience, merely by his grace, as a thank offering, well-pleasing in his sight. What freedom is found in those words. My works please my father. What could be better news than that? They don't make me right with him, they don't earn me his love. They are, rather, the product of the love that he has shed abroad in my heart.

A Singular Anonymous Letter

John R. de Witt, former pastor of several large churches, is my friend and mentor in the ministry. Recently, he spoke at RTS Charlotte on the accrued wisdom of 50 years in the pastorate. He related an anonymous letter which caused him to reflect upon how he preached. I found it very helpful, and thought it would be helpful both to preachers and laypeople in understanding the challenge and task of the church:

I came to your church sun and brought a young couple with me who are struggling with living a Christian life and are being pulled by the world with drugs, sex and alcohol. Many of the young people you preach to on Sunday morning are sleeping together on Friday and Saturday nights in a drugged, drunken stupor. They don’t really want to live like that but are pressured from all directions and are seeking some alternatives. What an awesome responsibility the church has to reach and develop these intelligent well educated young people. If you and your wife had been this young couple, what would you have taken home with you that would help you to face the world they have to live in this week?

You live in a sheltered world. They’re coming in there Sunday morning crying out for help –if the church doesn’t help them who will? What you said was doctrinally correct: repetitious, but cold. They need to know that God is real and that he is alive and wants to live in them that he is far greater and more caring than any earthly father could ever be, that he hears them and will comfort when their little world is falling apart –that they don’t have to turn to the crutches this world offers them but that Jesus is always there with his big loving arms open ready to love them and listen to their problems –that they can cast their cares on him for he really cares.

There are some young people who listen to you every Sunday who have considered suicide: they’re not getting answers. I’ve worked with them for thirty years. When they learn who they are as God’s child, and as a joint heir with Jesus entitled to all he is and has, that he can supply their every need then he becomes real and they depend on him instead of some psychiatrist that is in worse shape than they are. Second Presbyterian Church draws the young people who will be leaders in this city. Most of them are not getting any help at home. Their homes are broken by the same problems they have. I believe you are the man God has put there. Don’t let them go away with some cold doctrinal truths each Sunday –you will gradually lose them. I agree they need this. But first they need his love guidance and acceptance –they need some answers.

Pondering Severe Mercies

Yesterday was a day to note. After a delightful several hours interviewing prospective communicant young people, fellowshipping over a meal with the church, and going to our little prayer meeting, I stopped in my office for just a moment before I went home.

As I too often do, I checked Facebook. Two sad items greeted me. The first was the monster tornado that devastated Tuscaloosa. We lived south of Tuscaloosa for 3 years, and spent much happy time there. Sadly, it seems prone to devastating tornadoes --we lived through one the Saturday before Christmas. This one hit the very busy shopping district that straddles I-20/59, and stretches up around the University area. We pray all those we know and love are safe. This was just one of the record number of tornadoes in yesterday's outbreak.

Then, I saw that David Wilkerson, of The Cross and the Switchblade, founder of Times Square Church and Teen Challenge, was killed in a car accident and that his wife is in critical condition. Wilkerson was an incredible man albeit an exotic prophet --he picked up Life magazine one evening, and saw five boys charged with murdering another boy. He began driving from his rural Pennsylvania pastorate into the rough neighborhoods of NYC. He slept in his car. He put his life in danger. He bought an old house, and started a ministry of working troubled youth all day, and praying with them all night. Countless lives have been saved from temporal and eternal destruction because of his obedience to God's call. Now God called him home.

What a world. So beautiful and so broken. So uncertain. No rock but Jesus. So easy to say that when times are easy. Sometimes, though, it is like clinging with your fingernails while the flood tries to carry you away.

Any answers would be pat answers. There are no "answers" per se, at least not any that makes news like this easier to take. The only answer, ultimately, is Maranatha. And one day he will honor that cry, and fix all this stuff.

In Which He Tries to Talk about Pop Culture Without Mentioning Johnny Cash

Except in the header, of course.

File this under "common grace." No theology here.

My contention is simple: what happens in high culture eventually filters down into folk culture.

Folk culture is a valuable thing. It is reflective of real life, and dictated by the democratic forces of what people actually like and consume. Through much of human history, folk culture celebrated, highlighted and explained the joys and sorrows of life in an uncertain world. Folk culture provides us with many artifacts that aid us in understanding people --we might call these "art".

For purposes of discussion, here's a simple definition of art: art is something that either celebrates beauty for its own sake (like a Beethoven Symphony) or has something important to say about life (like The Diary of Anne Frank).

Both Jacques Barzun and Nancy Pearcey have used art (among other things) to trace the declension of the culture of the Western World. I want to take their thoughts a bit further. Barzun starts with the Renaissance and ends in the decadence among the thinking classes of the West (much lamented in Paul Johnson's Intellectuals, as well). What he says is certainly true, but very few people, myself included, are out there reading Derrida or Foucault or James Joyce.

Ideas do have consequences, though, and what happens among the chattering classes filters down to where we live. High art in the mid twentieth century showed the moral devastation wrought by existentialism and nihilism: unwatchable plays, un-listenable atonalism in music, unreadable novels and art that celebrated the meaningless, random and inconsequential. If you enjoy any of the finer things, scan your shelves and see how much you have among your cd collections by Philip Glass or Arnold Schonberg. If you had to take a music appreciation class in college, you probably had the misfortune of hearing atonal music. By any standard, it is not beautiful or meaningful. Indeed, it was intended to be just the opposite. This sad course was followed by many among the artistic classes, be it in visual arts, literature, and so on.

At the same time, folk culture was morphing into popular culture. Early on in this transition, pop culture took what was good in the folk culture, elevated it and made it accessible to the masses. I would argue pop culture began about the time of the mass production of the phonograph and exploded with the advent of radio --ordinary people could have, in their homes, enjoyable and engaging folk art produced by others on a scale never before realized. Motion pictures brought drama before audiences that may never have seen such before.

The early efforts have their own particular beauty (think Chaplin), but quality only improved with techonology. The restraints of censorship (as silly as some of it was) actually seemed to serve the purpose of developing art, since what was base and low brow had to be avoided.

Lucille Ball and Dick Van Dyke, among others, were able to elevate the old physical comedy of the Vaudeville circuit and put it into American living rooms. It was a celebration both of meaning (the value of family and laughter) and beauty and poignance. Playhouse 90, The Waltons and Little House on the Prairie were simple, elegant popularization of drama for household audiences. Again, they meant something, and were often profound.

Norman Lear elevated the sitcom to moral art form. We may not like or agree with much of what he said, but in terms of sheer artistry, using humor to disarm and critique through such figures as Archie Bunker and George Jefferson. George Jefferson was a work of pure genius --he was no caricature, and not an entirely sympathetic character. Yet, he was a black man who made it, while his bigoted white neighbor stayed lower middle class. Lear had no saccharine, and few made the points as made as well as he made them.

Music, too, went through similar iterations. There has, of course, always been the product of the marketing machine. One wonders what the attractions of Connie Stevens ever was, for instance, beyond marketable beauty. Yet, alongside that were artifacts of real meaning and real beauty. This remained true in popular music through the 70's. A few examples:

The ink is black, the page is white, together we learn to read and write...and now a child can understand that this is the law of all the land --Three Dog Night

Down in the Delta where I was born, all we raised was cotton, potatoes and corn. Pickin that cotton till our fingers hurt, draggin' that sack through that Delta dirt. --Charley Pride

Even the negative experiences of life are art form, because they bespeak stark reality:

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.

Alright, so I broke my Johnny Cash vow, though the lyrics, like so many other meaningful ones, were written by Kris Kristofferson. Or consider these by Jim Steinman's "Paradise By The Dashboard Light," one of the best rock songs ever written, about the misery induced by promiscuity....

(The girl stops the advances of the boy):

Stop right there!I gotta know right now! Before we go any further!
Do you love me? Will you love me forever? Do you need me?
Will you never leave me? Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?
Will you take me away and will you make me your wife?

The boy responds:

Let me sleep on it....I'll give you an answer in the morning.

She demurs, and he advances:

I couldn't take it any longer Lord I was crazed
And when the feeling came upon me Like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother's grave
That I would love you to the end of time
I swore that I would love you to the end of time!

So now I'm praying for the end of time
To hurry up and arrive...praying for the end of time so I can end my time with you.

It was long ago and it was far away, and it was so much better than it is today.

More examples could be multiplied. The question is not whether pop culture used to produce forgettable junk. It always has. The question is rather whether it is producing anything of lasting value now. I contend that it is not. There is little profundity left in pop culture --not in television, not in popular music regardless of genre. There is, thankfully, a bit left in the movies, which lend themselves better to saying profound things. Movies like The King's Speech prove the point --there is still an audience for good stuff. Yet, the purveyors of pop culture, who produce via focus group and the lowest common denominator, do not seem much interested in profundity and beauty even when they sell. The reason why is: existentialism and nihilism are the cultural currency. Nobody listens to Schonberg, but millions will listen to Katy Perry. And, that is a crying shame.

Christians ought to see this vacuum as a great opportunity to advance. Our God does all things well. He speaks profound things about himself and all his creation. He celebrates beauty for its own sake, and so should we. We should engage in arts high and folk, and encourage and celebrate those who do. To the existential despair of much of art (which is a crying out for God), we can present the very God who alone gives meaning, purpose and moral beauty.

Another "Me" Generation in the Church, or Why Don Miller Thinks You Care What He Ate For Breakfast Eight Years Ago....

Okay, I confess that I liked Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz. Currently, I am enjoying my colleague Jim Belcher's book Deep Church. Both of them could be broadly classed as the concerns of "emerging" Christianity (though not "Emergent" Christianity, an important distinction for those who are paying attention). I resonate with many of their concerns, and I agree with Jim Belcher that the Emergings are asking many of the right questions, particularly about the church as real community, against the modernistic assumptions of the "church growth" movement of the 70's-90's, and about concern for ministry to the poor contra the consumerism and materialism that have been baptized too often by the church. Belcher's use of Lewis's image of "deep church," I find very helpful, and a more generous orthodoxy than the counterfeit of it offered by Emergent gurus Rob Bell and Brian Maclaren.

My concern is somewhat tangential to the books themselves, and it is a concern because I see it in myself and others, and that is this --much of emerging Christianity seems obsessively concerned with self. Blue Like Jazz is a personal narrative of a journey of faith. I resonated with it, but I was left thinking, "There has to be something more than this." Deep Church is a picture of what the authentic church can be, but it is filled with extended personal narratives. Now, personal illustration is helpful --it can humanize what we are teaching, and put us in the pew as a fellow-struggler. Destructively, it can become "I am so deep. Be like me." Shades of the Colossian problem.

From my own experiences in the miry clay, I can say that, when I have felt bereft of God's presence, I have turned for help and solace to more subjective, heart-oriented writers like Tozer. From my vantage point now, though I love Tozer, I see the seductive danger of some of what he says --a questing for deep personal experience. The truth is --when I am trapped in the bottom of the wet well, I don't need to drive myself deeper into self-analysis, I need my eyes lifted up to see the great objective realities of the Christian faith. The fact that justification is something accomplished in real space and time, apart from me, means it is independent from how I feel about it. There is great security in that --the same security a child feels when he is at odds with his parent. Deep down, he knows his dad is still his dad, even though he is being punished. He knows that love is unconditional and irrevocable. The manger, the cross, the empty tomb, and my own justification are outside of myself, and they lift me out of myself.

There is always a tension between the objective realities of the Christian faith and my subjective appropriation of those realities. There is dead orthodoxy. There are those who presume upon the promises, and have no heart reality. Many who believe the facts will be lost at the last. Ryle was right and Tozer was right and Lloyd-Jones was right and Piper is right. One can fall off on both sides. The caution here is to get outside of ourselves and our own experiences. If we are bereft of joy and the light of God's face, the answer is not introspection. The answer is extro-spection --gazing upon the glories of all God has done for us in Christ. The answer is not doing more with Martha, but listening more with Mary. The answer is not shame over what we are leaving undone, but rejoicing in what God has done. The clouds will lift, comfort will come, and kingdom productivity will follow.