“Don’t be afraid” (Luke 2:10). The angel of the Lord spoke those words to the marginalized and forgotten of society in occupied territory. Their lives were full of hardship and threats, but unexpected supernatural visitors were something else. When an ordinary winter’s night safeguarding obstinate animals is rent by divine light and a loud voice, there’s good reason to tremble.
Hard after the assurance follows news that drives out fear: “good news of great joy that will be for all people” (Luke 2:10). That this announcement was given directly to the shepherds may have been as exciting as the news itself. When has a herald ever come specifically and exclusively to them? Maybe this baby born in Bethlehem will actually be the Prince of Peace that was promised (Isaiah 9:6). Maybe this really is the coming of the Sovereign Lord who will care for people as tenderly as these men care for the sheep in their flock (Isaiah 40:11). Could it be God’s favour rests on them (Luke 2:14)?
Good news for all
To whom would Jesus’ birth be announced today? Who in our world needs to hear the good news that drives away fear? A multigenerational First Nations family crammed in a tiny house on a northern reserve without plumbing or clean drinking water? An intravenous drug user shooting up at Vancouver’s InSite? Recent immigrants lost in a multicultural sea of humanity in a Toronto low-rent highrise complex? A Middle American family facing job loss and foreclosure on their home? The shepherds of Palestine today – still watching over sheep near Bethlehem, still despised by society – spat on by Jewish settlers and harassed by soldiers?
Jesus’ birth didn’t come at some idyllic point in history, a time when things were easier than they are now. It didn’t come to a people at the top of their game, riding on the coattails of a world superpower. And the message of peace was not something that instantly changed the situation around them. Sure, they were living in a period hailed as Pax Romana, but reality for the subjugated Jewish people was far from rosy, despite Roman propaganda. What followers of the one true God wouldn’t chafe under government by an idolatrous crew who add the emperor himself to their pantheon of worship?
No, this announcement didn’t come at a peaceful time, nor did it usher in a political or social age of peace. The peace proclaimed to all people that night, and forever, is not the peace of our tidy suburban churches with well-dressed and well-educated members, nor the peace of a democratic and fair government.
Steadiness of the soul
The peace proclaimed that night, proclaimed throughout the life and ministry of Christ on earth, and proclaimed through his church in the centuries that followed and the years to come, is peace in the midst of conflict. It’s the steadiness of the soul that can reach out and heal the ear of an attacker (Luke 22:50–51), marshal fellow prisoners to stay in jail during an earthquake (Acts 16:26–27), rescue a pursuer from an icy canal (Anabaptist Dirk Willems), and hold eye clinics in the midst of a war zone (martyred MCCer Glen Lapp). It’s the steadiness of the soul for the mundane: for changing baby’s diaper for the nth time this morning, for creating a monthly budget and sticking to it, and for hosting a holiday family gathering despite the inevitable arguments and interpersonal tension. It’s the steadiness of the soul that weathers theological questions and challenges with faith in God and love for our fellow Christians, despite different perspectives on important issues.
The message of peace is for body and soul. Despite war and suffering, the message of Christmas tells us not to fear, but to have peace both deep in our hearts and flowing out through our fingertips as we perform acts of mercy and love for those around us.
Perhaps we, the church of Christ, need to hear the good news again, and to take those words into the core of our being – don’t be afraid.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Broken people...
After reflecting with one coworker on how often churches in all their forms really mess up and hurt a whole bunch of people in the process -- and how "we gotta do better" -- I stumbled into another conversation with a coworker which highlighted our brokenness, and I suddenly realized what was wrong with my take in the first.
I wanted the church to be better at fixing our mistakes, or better yet, at not making them in the first place. But maybe this "fix-it" attitude is partly the reason we keep blowing it again and again! My friend recollected an experience when a church community was in a terrible place: compounded mistakes, hurts, and frustrations had blown up, spewing pain all over all parties. (I'm sure anyone with a long history in the church can think of one, if not several, such occasions in their past.) A new Christian who observed all these goings on responded in an unexpected way. Instead of "you people are a bunch of screw-ups! How could this possibly be God's people? I'm outta here!" she said, "This is the place for me! Everyone is so broken, I don't need to hide who I really am from these Christians, or feel ashamed about not having it all together."
And I realized our problem is not that we mess up so often, but that we pretend we don't. We don't talk about it. We don't own up when we make mistakes. We don't admit to having hurt or being hurt. We don't allow others to see the two steps backward that preceded every step forward. So we run from cleaning up one mess to another.
Mulling this as I biked, I lit upon the mission statement: "Healthy growing churches reaching their world." At one point, it didn't quite feel right to me; there was something just a bit off there, something incomplete, or over-exaggerated. The suggestions for a new one I have heard so far are similarly unsatisfactory, and I began to regard the old more positively. But after this conversation, I realized why the former seemed too neat, and I have a proposal for a change:
"Broken people, loved by Jesus, extending God's grace."
We want to be healthy, we want to be growing, we want to successfully share the hope we have found with others. However, I wonder if starting with honesty instead of aspiration mightn't stand us in better stead. We are fallen people: no amount of success, health, growth, or even church attendance/tithing/fasting/missionary work/spiritual discipline will manage to change that. Our only hope lies in the bewildering, contradictory, unfathomable fact that the creator of the universe knows all that yet loves us fully -- enough to sacrifice himself for us; enough to ask us to be participants in his work. When we begin to catch hold of that, to explore what this could mean, how then we live our lives, we can then do so with grace.
Leadership Journal editor Skye Jethani exhorted listeners at the 2011 Church Planting Congress to recognize that what the church needs is more grace. We call for more programs, or more worship, more spirituality, more theology, more activism, more social justice, or more prayer. All these things are good and may be wanting in lesser or greater measure in any given assembly of believers, but what will temper it all, and put it all in perspective, guide and shape it all in more healthy -- but still broken -- ways, is more grace. More grace for others' failings; more grace for our own. More grace received from God; more grace extended to others.
Instead of working so hard to get everyone on the same page, I wonder what we would discover about our God, the infinitely creative, diversity-loving Master of the Universe -- and what we would share with others -- if we extended a little bit more grace to all the broken people in our midst, both inside and outside the church, remembering that we are all broken people...loved by God. Might we end up "doing better"?
I wanted the church to be better at fixing our mistakes, or better yet, at not making them in the first place. But maybe this "fix-it" attitude is partly the reason we keep blowing it again and again! My friend recollected an experience when a church community was in a terrible place: compounded mistakes, hurts, and frustrations had blown up, spewing pain all over all parties. (I'm sure anyone with a long history in the church can think of one, if not several, such occasions in their past.) A new Christian who observed all these goings on responded in an unexpected way. Instead of "you people are a bunch of screw-ups! How could this possibly be God's people? I'm outta here!" she said, "This is the place for me! Everyone is so broken, I don't need to hide who I really am from these Christians, or feel ashamed about not having it all together."
And I realized our problem is not that we mess up so often, but that we pretend we don't. We don't talk about it. We don't own up when we make mistakes. We don't admit to having hurt or being hurt. We don't allow others to see the two steps backward that preceded every step forward. So we run from cleaning up one mess to another.
Mulling this as I biked, I lit upon the mission statement: "Healthy growing churches reaching their world." At one point, it didn't quite feel right to me; there was something just a bit off there, something incomplete, or over-exaggerated. The suggestions for a new one I have heard so far are similarly unsatisfactory, and I began to regard the old more positively. But after this conversation, I realized why the former seemed too neat, and I have a proposal for a change:
"Broken people, loved by Jesus, extending God's grace."
We want to be healthy, we want to be growing, we want to successfully share the hope we have found with others. However, I wonder if starting with honesty instead of aspiration mightn't stand us in better stead. We are fallen people: no amount of success, health, growth, or even church attendance/tithing/fasting/missionary work/spiritual discipline will manage to change that. Our only hope lies in the bewildering, contradictory, unfathomable fact that the creator of the universe knows all that yet loves us fully -- enough to sacrifice himself for us; enough to ask us to be participants in his work. When we begin to catch hold of that, to explore what this could mean, how then we live our lives, we can then do so with grace.
Leadership Journal editor Skye Jethani exhorted listeners at the 2011 Church Planting Congress to recognize that what the church needs is more grace. We call for more programs, or more worship, more spirituality, more theology, more activism, more social justice, or more prayer. All these things are good and may be wanting in lesser or greater measure in any given assembly of believers, but what will temper it all, and put it all in perspective, guide and shape it all in more healthy -- but still broken -- ways, is more grace. More grace for others' failings; more grace for our own. More grace received from God; more grace extended to others.
Instead of working so hard to get everyone on the same page, I wonder what we would discover about our God, the infinitely creative, diversity-loving Master of the Universe -- and what we would share with others -- if we extended a little bit more grace to all the broken people in our midst, both inside and outside the church, remembering that we are all broken people...loved by God. Might we end up "doing better"?
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Remembrance Day
What's a pacifist to do with Remembrance Day?
I'm not sure.
First, I acknowledge with appreciation the fact that Canada celebrates Remembrance Day (not Veterans Day): putting emphasis on remembering conflict, leaving room for all kinds of remembrance; not only of fallen soldiers, but also of civilian lives affected, even lost in the course of armed conflict. So I deem it important to attend a service each year. It's an unfamiliar world to me, the military is, and one whose raison d'etre is contrary to my beliefs, but because of those two factors, it's necessary that I go to a service to dip a toe in the waters of that world.
From the far corner of the enormous room where I was standing, the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse and contained a healthy number of children, given that a long serious service is generally not the most fun activity for a child. From the stage, however, as well as the closing march past, one would think Canada were still the solidly Ango-Saxon, British Empire world of the 1940s. If the military has guaranteed the freedoms we hold so dear -- held also very dearly, possibly moreso, by the immigrants who chose to leave often violent and repressive countries to come to Canada -- why, then, we must ask, do so few choose to join the military? Are they too busy getting established in their new country? Do they prefer more lucrative occupations? Or do they, perhaps, not only wish to live in a country without conflict, but also believe from personal experience that armed conflict isn't terribly effective at "guaranteeing freedom" or "stopping oppression" -- certainly not without first causing a great deal of destruction -- and thus not want to take part in that violent institution?
It was fascinating how much religion was embedded in the City of Winnipeg's Remembrance Day event at the convention centre this year -- and last, for that matter. And by "religion," I mean "Christianity." Two hymns (to which no one seemed to sing along, though they didn't sing along to "O Canada" or "God Save the Queen" either -- I guess public singing has gone the way of, I don't know, maybe church attendance?), two Scripture readings (James 4! and something from the Apocryphal book Sirach), prayers, the formal meditation of the program given by a chaplain, and even all of those songs the military band played during the laying of the wreaths were hymns (e.g. The Church's One Foundation; Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus). While part of me was cheered to see these vestiges of faith go unchallenged in public, secular society, part of me is always uncomfortable with invoking God for the killing of other people, however purportedly noble "our" cause may be.
Having participated in the remembrance of war, I then went to the Forks to participate in a demonstration for peace. Frankly, I'm as unconvinced about the merit of our little flashmob singing "Freedom is coming" as I am about the whole Christian war memorial service, but it seemed appropriate to participate in both.
I rounded out the day by viewing a documentary (at Cinematheque) that received acclaimed at Toronto's Hot Docs film festival. I'm not sure if the director of To Hell and Back wanted to do more than show how difficult life at home can be for a war vet of the Afghanistan conflict, but the movie was effective at reinforcing my pacifist beliefs. Those American troops in Afghanistan didn't seem to have clue how negative was their impact on the local Afghans; the soldiers were convinced they had the Afghans best interests in mind, convinced they were helping. Neither the Afghan locals, nor I, was so certain. In one revealing interaction, the soldiers allow local men to return briefly to the village the soldiers are now occupying, using as a base to snipe at the Taliban forces who periodically show up to snipe at them. At one house, they used the owner's sacks of grain to create their sandbag wall. "It's ruined!" The man exclaims. "I already had to buy grain to feed my children yesterday. They having nothing to eat and have diarrhea from camping down by the river." "Yeah, sorry, we'll replace it [eventually]," the soldiers respond, glibly reassuring. "We needed it to shield us from the field" is their justification. "We shot some goats; they were threatening the soldiers. I guess they won't be happy about that," another soldier tells the camera. Hello!? You big strong soldiers are threatened by a couple of goats?!
The hero? or was he merely the "subject" of the documentary? is a foul-mouthed, narrow-minded, uneducated man who proudly declares that he joined the marines with only one desire: to kill people. (And they, according to him, were delighted to have him.) He's obsessed with his pistol, showing his wife how to shoot it so that she can take down any possible intruders. "You can shoot them if they're threatening you," he reassures her. "It's your right. You can even shoot them through the door. Just not in the back." To her credit, the very young wife turns away and refuses to touch the gun. I can accept the military as a group of very in-shape, widely trained men and women who can respond to national disasters, perform search and rescue operations, possibly even do some crowd control and peacekeeping missions (provided they are actually taught how "keep" peace -- to de-escalate violence and mediate between different parties -- not merely given blue berets and given a new name). But this emphasis on killing? It chills me to my bones.
Nonviolence certainly doesn't always work, but to dismiss it on those grounds is to ignore the many, many, many times violent solutions fail. If we didn't assume war were an option, might we not try harder to prevent the situations which now result in war? If we didn't have war in our toolkit of problem solving, might we not expand our creativity and thinking to many very different options?
"What about Hitler -- how would you have stopped him without war?!" pacifists are often challenged. But Hitler didn't appear out of nowhere in 1939. He took over the Czech Sudetenland in 1938, violated treaties in 1936, took power in 1933; the warnings were there, and the opportunities existed to exert powers other than military might. What if things had been done different, starting in 1914?
I'll continue to observe Remembrance Day with MCC's slogan in mind: to remember is to work for peace. Yes, many young men and women have died doing what they believed was sacrificial noble work to protect freedom, and I would not wish to discount those deaths as anything other than tragic. But with more and more civilians dying in the crossfire of more and more conflicts around the world, and more soldiers returning home from conflicts severely scarred not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, I wonder, isn't it time we start working harder at alternatives to war?
I'm not sure.
First, I acknowledge with appreciation the fact that Canada celebrates Remembrance Day (not Veterans Day): putting emphasis on remembering conflict, leaving room for all kinds of remembrance; not only of fallen soldiers, but also of civilian lives affected, even lost in the course of armed conflict. So I deem it important to attend a service each year. It's an unfamiliar world to me, the military is, and one whose raison d'etre is contrary to my beliefs, but because of those two factors, it's necessary that I go to a service to dip a toe in the waters of that world.
From the far corner of the enormous room where I was standing, the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse and contained a healthy number of children, given that a long serious service is generally not the most fun activity for a child. From the stage, however, as well as the closing march past, one would think Canada were still the solidly Ango-Saxon, British Empire world of the 1940s. If the military has guaranteed the freedoms we hold so dear -- held also very dearly, possibly moreso, by the immigrants who chose to leave often violent and repressive countries to come to Canada -- why, then, we must ask, do so few choose to join the military? Are they too busy getting established in their new country? Do they prefer more lucrative occupations? Or do they, perhaps, not only wish to live in a country without conflict, but also believe from personal experience that armed conflict isn't terribly effective at "guaranteeing freedom" or "stopping oppression" -- certainly not without first causing a great deal of destruction -- and thus not want to take part in that violent institution?
It was fascinating how much religion was embedded in the City of Winnipeg's Remembrance Day event at the convention centre this year -- and last, for that matter. And by "religion," I mean "Christianity." Two hymns (to which no one seemed to sing along, though they didn't sing along to "O Canada" or "God Save the Queen" either -- I guess public singing has gone the way of, I don't know, maybe church attendance?), two Scripture readings (James 4! and something from the Apocryphal book Sirach), prayers, the formal meditation of the program given by a chaplain, and even all of those songs the military band played during the laying of the wreaths were hymns (e.g. The Church's One Foundation; Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus). While part of me was cheered to see these vestiges of faith go unchallenged in public, secular society, part of me is always uncomfortable with invoking God for the killing of other people, however purportedly noble "our" cause may be.
Having participated in the remembrance of war, I then went to the Forks to participate in a demonstration for peace. Frankly, I'm as unconvinced about the merit of our little flashmob singing "Freedom is coming" as I am about the whole Christian war memorial service, but it seemed appropriate to participate in both.
I rounded out the day by viewing a documentary (at Cinematheque) that received acclaimed at Toronto's Hot Docs film festival. I'm not sure if the director of To Hell and Back wanted to do more than show how difficult life at home can be for a war vet of the Afghanistan conflict, but the movie was effective at reinforcing my pacifist beliefs. Those American troops in Afghanistan didn't seem to have clue how negative was their impact on the local Afghans; the soldiers were convinced they had the Afghans best interests in mind, convinced they were helping. Neither the Afghan locals, nor I, was so certain. In one revealing interaction, the soldiers allow local men to return briefly to the village the soldiers are now occupying, using as a base to snipe at the Taliban forces who periodically show up to snipe at them. At one house, they used the owner's sacks of grain to create their sandbag wall. "It's ruined!" The man exclaims. "I already had to buy grain to feed my children yesterday. They having nothing to eat and have diarrhea from camping down by the river." "Yeah, sorry, we'll replace it [eventually]," the soldiers respond, glibly reassuring. "We needed it to shield us from the field" is their justification. "We shot some goats; they were threatening the soldiers. I guess they won't be happy about that," another soldier tells the camera. Hello!? You big strong soldiers are threatened by a couple of goats?!
The hero? or was he merely the "subject" of the documentary? is a foul-mouthed, narrow-minded, uneducated man who proudly declares that he joined the marines with only one desire: to kill people. (And they, according to him, were delighted to have him.) He's obsessed with his pistol, showing his wife how to shoot it so that she can take down any possible intruders. "You can shoot them if they're threatening you," he reassures her. "It's your right. You can even shoot them through the door. Just not in the back." To her credit, the very young wife turns away and refuses to touch the gun. I can accept the military as a group of very in-shape, widely trained men and women who can respond to national disasters, perform search and rescue operations, possibly even do some crowd control and peacekeeping missions (provided they are actually taught how "keep" peace -- to de-escalate violence and mediate between different parties -- not merely given blue berets and given a new name). But this emphasis on killing? It chills me to my bones.
Nonviolence certainly doesn't always work, but to dismiss it on those grounds is to ignore the many, many, many times violent solutions fail. If we didn't assume war were an option, might we not try harder to prevent the situations which now result in war? If we didn't have war in our toolkit of problem solving, might we not expand our creativity and thinking to many very different options?
"What about Hitler -- how would you have stopped him without war?!" pacifists are often challenged. But Hitler didn't appear out of nowhere in 1939. He took over the Czech Sudetenland in 1938, violated treaties in 1936, took power in 1933; the warnings were there, and the opportunities existed to exert powers other than military might. What if things had been done different, starting in 1914?
I'll continue to observe Remembrance Day with MCC's slogan in mind: to remember is to work for peace. Yes, many young men and women have died doing what they believed was sacrificial noble work to protect freedom, and I would not wish to discount those deaths as anything other than tragic. But with more and more civilians dying in the crossfire of more and more conflicts around the world, and more soldiers returning home from conflicts severely scarred not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, I wonder, isn't it time we start working harder at alternatives to war?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Downtown politics and hope
To call me a dilettante in politics would be generous. I have opinions in spades, but pay just enough attention to the issues to come off as informed, without ever gaining any depth of understanding of underlying policy.
Nevertheless, I attended a political forum today on downtown issues. What I heard affirmed my belief that I really can't get behind any one party -- perhaps a terrible admission to make when I strongly believe people should be informed and vote when given the opportunity. But, I find, I don't really care whose idea it is; if it's a good one, implement it already and enough with the partisanship!
The politicians, of course, danced around all the questions, slighting each others' record whenever possible, speaking in generalities and platitudes, harping on certain platform issues regardless of their relevance to constituent question. As one of the moderators said at the end of the debate, "Ten years from now, we'll be back here, debating these very same issues." Nobody really had anything new or different to throw at the problems; no one had any truly fresh ideas that might actually produce change.
Oddly, I walked away encouraged. In part, because I heard some of my favourite topics addressed in terms I like (e.g. rapid transit, increased residential downtown). In large part, I think, because the two party leaders present came out as human beings. The one had previously come across to me as a brash, confident-talking, know-it-all. Though I was irritated with his constant jabs at "12 years of the current government" as though his party's previous 12ish years had any better of a track record, overall, I was impressed with his humility and humanity, particularly in his treatment of one very irate woman, who was really there to harangue politicians about a personal grievance, not to ask a question.
The other party leader also stooped to kick dirt on the other parties more often than I'd expect from a political leader who is usually accorded a great deal of respect for being a gentleman. Overall, he seemed true to reputation, and I appreciated him for being the only one, in the discussion on being tough on crime, to bring up the importance of giving people something constructive to do as an alternative.
More than one audience member challenged the tough-on-crime rhetoric, and while the politicians' answers were less than satisfactory, at least the audience support for a different set of glasses was encouraging.
Perhaps politics is a less depressing place for Christians than for others. We appreciate the government's work and the earnest efforts of many dedicated individuals. Though disappointed, we are not surprised at the deception, the lying, the broken promises -- after all, all humans are fallen. Ultimately, at the end of the day, we don't pin our hopes on the political process. Governments can be God's instrument for order, civility, and social security, but they are not where our hope lies. Whether we see the best or the worst of humanity in policies, procedures, and programs, our hope comes from above all that in the love of God and the reconciliation of Jesus. It's a terribly simplistic answer, and an awfully odd place to land up when I started with political jousting over a barren and violent patch of urban real estate, but I truly believe something about it is true.Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Subway observation
It's high time for another post, but the creeping dark says I ought to retire sooner rather than later. Faced with the option of tooting my own horn for a gratuitous post or thowing out a flippant observation, I'll go with the latter.
You know you're in Montreal when...
...the trendy young woman on the subway wearing a shapely dress, beret, and retro schoolteacher heels has a fur stole around her neck -- identifiably mink by its beady eyes and little feet.
It made me smile. Somehow, I can't imagine those little eyes going over well anywhere else in North America, at least, not south of the Arctic Circle, where I suspect the heels might be out of place. It's fascinating how Quebec is so distinctly different from the rest of Canada above and beyond the diversity from one region to the next.
You know you're in Montreal when...
...the trendy young woman on the subway wearing a shapely dress, beret, and retro schoolteacher heels has a fur stole around her neck -- identifiably mink by its beady eyes and little feet.
It made me smile. Somehow, I can't imagine those little eyes going over well anywhere else in North America, at least, not south of the Arctic Circle, where I suspect the heels might be out of place. It's fascinating how Quebec is so distinctly different from the rest of Canada above and beyond the diversity from one region to the next.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Lost imagination
Shane Claiborne has not become famous for nothing. He's a great speaker, pulling together the best pithy quotes from MLK Jr., Mother Teresa, Karl Barth, and who knows who else.
He spoke a lot about the Amish tonight at Knox United's ecumenical event. Probably pandering to the crowd, knowing there were many Mennonites there. Whenever I hear a non-Mennonite speak about Anabaptists that way -- with admiration -- I think, boy, we have a lot to learn from ourselves! Which is not to say we don't have plenty to learn from other traditions, because we certainly do, but it seems we've lost as many good things as we've kept.
What captured me most from Shane's talk tonight was his line, "the church has lost its imagination." Referencing Romans 12:2, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind," he urged us to recapture imagination, to find new ways of not conforming to the world's ways.
Creativity; a helpful tool -- in nonviolence, in evangelism, and in just plain living as a Christ-follower. Just imagine what we could do if we let our imaginations run. Imagine if we resisted empire with the creativity of children. Imagine if we lived out the Kingdom of God on earth like artists.
This isn't a message of browbeating, or guilt-mongering, hate or hypocrisy, but one of hope. And that is so encouraging, and brings us to the love and reconciliation that is at the heart of Christ's message.
So. Let's release our imaginations to the task of noncomformity!
He spoke a lot about the Amish tonight at Knox United's ecumenical event. Probably pandering to the crowd, knowing there were many Mennonites there. Whenever I hear a non-Mennonite speak about Anabaptists that way -- with admiration -- I think, boy, we have a lot to learn from ourselves! Which is not to say we don't have plenty to learn from other traditions, because we certainly do, but it seems we've lost as many good things as we've kept.
What captured me most from Shane's talk tonight was his line, "the church has lost its imagination." Referencing Romans 12:2, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind," he urged us to recapture imagination, to find new ways of not conforming to the world's ways.
Creativity; a helpful tool -- in nonviolence, in evangelism, and in just plain living as a Christ-follower. Just imagine what we could do if we let our imaginations run. Imagine if we resisted empire with the creativity of children. Imagine if we lived out the Kingdom of God on earth like artists.
This isn't a message of browbeating, or guilt-mongering, hate or hypocrisy, but one of hope. And that is so encouraging, and brings us to the love and reconciliation that is at the heart of Christ's message.
So. Let's release our imaginations to the task of noncomformity!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Suffering
Contend with my enemies, oh Lord. -- Psalm 35
The good fruit is good, but the bad is so bad, it cannot be eaten. -- Jeremiah 24:3
Why does God still blame us and show his wrath? -- Romans 9
"Who sinned -- this man or his parents -- that he was born blind?" -- John 9:1
There's plenty of Scripture to resonate with those who are suffering; all kinds of invective, lamentation, and anguished questioning for those who need to vent. And the answers aren't always clear. But God is all-powerful, and all-loving, and somehow that must make the pieces fit together, somehow, whether now, or in the final reckoning.
For several much fuller explorations of the subject of God and suffering, check out the feature articles here.
The good fruit is good, but the bad is so bad, it cannot be eaten. -- Jeremiah 24:3
Why does God still blame us and show his wrath? -- Romans 9
"Who sinned -- this man or his parents -- that he was born blind?" -- John 9:1
There's plenty of Scripture to resonate with those who are suffering; all kinds of invective, lamentation, and anguished questioning for those who need to vent. And the answers aren't always clear. But God is all-powerful, and all-loving, and somehow that must make the pieces fit together, somehow, whether now, or in the final reckoning.
For several much fuller explorations of the subject of God and suffering, check out the feature articles here.
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