A quote stood out to me today from our introduction to preaching course that I thought powerful and convicting enough to share. It's one of those concepts that I've wrestled with over the past few years. Reading the book, "The Prodigal God" stressed a very similar notion that I think rarely gets addressed because I believe we're rarely honest enough to admit it:
"The right things done for the wrong reasons are wrong."
I find myself wanting to qualify the phrase a little in order to make it less convicting. How can you make a blanket statement that its wrong to do the right things? What about those times when we have mixed motives and do something out of obedience rather than out of joy? The more I read the story of the prodigal elder brother, the more I see the truth in this statement. His goal was to do the right thing - to maintain his father's property, to be dutiful in everything as a son, to not sway to the right or to the left or even step near the path that his younger brother was taking. But his motive (and the motive of every Pharisee like me that ever lived) was not one of gratitude and expression of love for his father. It was one of manipulation. If I'm good...then God will... Keller states it like this - "wanting the Father's things and not the Father."
Thankfully, in God's grace, He sees our hidden motives and oftentimes works in spite of them. He sees that there is a part of me that wants to pursue seminary to 'know more of the Father's things' and He reminds me that relationship, truly knowing a person, has just as much to do with the heart as it does the mind. Knowing the importance of trusting God will remain a concept until the rent is due and there's $50 in the account. Believing that God is good in difficulty is theoretical until someone you love is tragically taken from you. That's why David's prayer for God to search and know His heart involves finding those wrong motives and correcting them.
Search me, O God and know my heart. See if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Call and the Fall
Part of our reading this week had to do with distortions that can arise when we are following God’s call on our lives. Pride, the temptation to believe that we are responsible for our gifting, and envy, the temptation to evaluate and compare giftings, are as core to us in our fallenness as seeds are to fruit. Human achievement (look what I can do) and human audience (see what I can do) influence us to places of pride in our calling. Inordinate desire (I find meaning in what I do) and competition (I can do it best) can corrupt our motivations in how we carry out our calling.
There is probably no sin, in following our call, that is better ‘masked’ than pride and envy. We learn over time how to disguise our motivations to be noticed by wearing false humility and spouting ‘glory to God’ phrases while internally giving ourselves the glory and fantasizing about how far our gifts will take us. We develop abilities to find prominence and position by evaluating our passion and our giftedness in the pale light of where it ranks in the bell-shaped curve of ministry effectiveness or theological intelligence.
I speak so strongly on it because I’m so guilty of it. It is a daily dependence on God’s grace to scour the prideful and envious recesses of my heart. As a musician, most of my learning of how to hone my gifts had to do with other’s evaluation of me or what rank I received in competitions. While there’s nothing wrong, in itself, with evaluation or competition, what goes on within my heart is what needs daily guarding: a posture of humility. I pray for God’s constant intercession to remind me He alone is the source of all giftedness and the One to whom all glory and credit and praise and honor is due. I am the instrument. He is the composer of the song, the maker and player of the instrument and ultimately, the audience.
There is probably no sin, in following our call, that is better ‘masked’ than pride and envy. We learn over time how to disguise our motivations to be noticed by wearing false humility and spouting ‘glory to God’ phrases while internally giving ourselves the glory and fantasizing about how far our gifts will take us. We develop abilities to find prominence and position by evaluating our passion and our giftedness in the pale light of where it ranks in the bell-shaped curve of ministry effectiveness or theological intelligence.
I speak so strongly on it because I’m so guilty of it. It is a daily dependence on God’s grace to scour the prideful and envious recesses of my heart. As a musician, most of my learning of how to hone my gifts had to do with other’s evaluation of me or what rank I received in competitions. While there’s nothing wrong, in itself, with evaluation or competition, what goes on within my heart is what needs daily guarding: a posture of humility. I pray for God’s constant intercession to remind me He alone is the source of all giftedness and the One to whom all glory and credit and praise and honor is due. I am the instrument. He is the composer of the song, the maker and player of the instrument and ultimately, the audience.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Recovering Idealist
Today - Saturday. A day off from classes and a morning scheduled to run with a new friend around Forest Park, the Central Park of St. Louis. We spent about an hour running and attempting, through labored breathing, to talk stories and histories. We talked about how we share a similar leaning in our personalities, a leaning that can often be a blessing but more often than not can be a curse: we're idealists.
Idealism on the surface sounds pretty good. By definition (and I'm selecting one of many) is the practice of forming ideals and living under them. Creating in my mind the 'best case scenario' for something. The problem comes when the 'best case' becomes at best the 'mediocre case scenario.' When living under what you hoped for becomes less than hoped for. Whether it be in a relationship, work, church, seminary, I have the tendency, as I think many of us do, to create ideals and then subsequently become disappointed or frustrated when my creation becomes tarnished by the realities of living in a sin-laden world.
This tension between ideal and real is so often the tension I live in with regard to my walk with God, with my family, with seminary. I paint ideals of who He 'should' be and I'm reminded later that His ways are higher than my ways. I create pictures of who I want to be as a husband or father or brother or son and two minutes later find myself wanting to delete what just came out of my mouth. I think learning Biblical Greek will be such a mountaintop experience to be able to, on my own, translate the Holy Word of God and then in Chapter 10 of my Greek Primer exercises find myself fumbling and stumbling through what the word for 'is' is.
What it all comes down to ultimately is that the ideal has been, is and always will be Jesus. There's nothing and no one better. He will never fail apart or fall short of ideal. He never changes. And even when I do or my illusions of best case scenarios do, He offers grace. Grace to say, "I am the ideal, the perfect plan, and it was part of this perfect plan to take the fall for imperfect, sinful, pessimistic people."
God is the perfect idealist. His plans and pictures of what is best never fail. I don't want to be an idealist anymore. I want Him to be.
Idealism on the surface sounds pretty good. By definition (and I'm selecting one of many) is the practice of forming ideals and living under them. Creating in my mind the 'best case scenario' for something. The problem comes when the 'best case' becomes at best the 'mediocre case scenario.' When living under what you hoped for becomes less than hoped for. Whether it be in a relationship, work, church, seminary, I have the tendency, as I think many of us do, to create ideals and then subsequently become disappointed or frustrated when my creation becomes tarnished by the realities of living in a sin-laden world.
This tension between ideal and real is so often the tension I live in with regard to my walk with God, with my family, with seminary. I paint ideals of who He 'should' be and I'm reminded later that His ways are higher than my ways. I create pictures of who I want to be as a husband or father or brother or son and two minutes later find myself wanting to delete what just came out of my mouth. I think learning Biblical Greek will be such a mountaintop experience to be able to, on my own, translate the Holy Word of God and then in Chapter 10 of my Greek Primer exercises find myself fumbling and stumbling through what the word for 'is' is.
What it all comes down to ultimately is that the ideal has been, is and always will be Jesus. There's nothing and no one better. He will never fail apart or fall short of ideal. He never changes. And even when I do or my illusions of best case scenarios do, He offers grace. Grace to say, "I am the ideal, the perfect plan, and it was part of this perfect plan to take the fall for imperfect, sinful, pessimistic people."
God is the perfect idealist. His plans and pictures of what is best never fail. I don't want to be an idealist anymore. I want Him to be.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Play-doh and Plato
In his chapter on the global and practical nature of calling (“Everyone, everywhere, everything” in the book "The Call"), Os Guinness highlights a distortion that occurs in our day to day lives - the chasm that occurs when we separate the holy from the daily, thereby creating a ‘double standard’ in faith. What was created was a two-tiered way of living, one way in the ‘perfect’ or holy way of life and the other in the ‘permitted’ and more mundane tasks of life. He argues that ‘sadly, this view of calling flagrantly perverted biblical teaching by narrowing the sphere of calling and excluding most Christians from its scope.”
Can I get an Amen? Not merely because we can all probably point to experiences and circumstances in which this dualism has played out in the church but because we can all probably point to situations in our own lives in which this dualism has paralyzed or frustrated us. As a parent of a two year old, when this distortion begins to take root in my relationship with him, I begin to view my role as ‘father’ taking a backseat to my role as ‘pastor.’ Giving him a bath becomes a task that delays me from ‘bathing’ in the lofty spiritual pursuit of refining my theology. And when more of the responsibilities of parenting weigh on me, I find myself sometimes feeling ‘bogged down and delayed’ rather than ‘invited’ to participate in something equally holy.
In this pursuit of ‘calling’ in ministry, I pray that God would continue to remind me and call me back to a universal way of holy living, the kind of living that finds fulfillment and purpose in living meaningfully between Play-Doh and Plato, between tricycles and in the Trinity, between reading “Once upon a Potty” and “In the Beginning, God” I fight the dualism everyday and I pray, as Guinness highlights, that I would be better off to blur the distinctions and see both as purposeful.
Can I get an Amen? Not merely because we can all probably point to experiences and circumstances in which this dualism has played out in the church but because we can all probably point to situations in our own lives in which this dualism has paralyzed or frustrated us. As a parent of a two year old, when this distortion begins to take root in my relationship with him, I begin to view my role as ‘father’ taking a backseat to my role as ‘pastor.’ Giving him a bath becomes a task that delays me from ‘bathing’ in the lofty spiritual pursuit of refining my theology. And when more of the responsibilities of parenting weigh on me, I find myself sometimes feeling ‘bogged down and delayed’ rather than ‘invited’ to participate in something equally holy.
In this pursuit of ‘calling’ in ministry, I pray that God would continue to remind me and call me back to a universal way of holy living, the kind of living that finds fulfillment and purpose in living meaningfully between Play-Doh and Plato, between tricycles and in the Trinity, between reading “Once upon a Potty” and “In the Beginning, God” I fight the dualism everyday and I pray, as Guinness highlights, that I would be better off to blur the distinctions and see both as purposeful.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Jesus, come in.
I'm wrestling with how to actively participate in this formal pursuit of God called seminary. Everyday I'm confronted with what feels like a crossroads where two questions are asked, two signs are posted: This way for knowledge about God ----> This way for participation with God <----.
In the first option, I'm the one basically in charge. I decide what comes in and what goes out. I decide what to spend my energy on and what gets shelved. I choose the questions that get asked and I come up with the answers that 'fit' what I want my theology to look like. And I do this all of the time already in my devotions. I attempt to scale down large, epic narratives in Scripture to my own little backyard playground. I attempt to confine attributes like "holy" and "sovereign" to abstract concepts that prove my faith to be the right one. And the further I head down this road, the more God becomes an acquaintance, someone I know by association, but not someone I know by experience.
But the second option has a different scenery altogether. When I let Him do the narrating, do the telling of the story, do the asking of the questions, I find myself instead the one not doing the inviting but rather the one who was invited. Invited to step into the large, epic narrative and stand in wonder and awe at Who He is and what He's done. "Holy" and "sovereign" become attributes to be celebrated and marveled. The very thought of even being invited into such a marvelous and breathtaking story is completely humbling.
I'm beginning to understand Emmanuel - God with Us in light of all this. I just read an example of this in a reading today on "knowing" God. It's one thing to talk about a person who is not in the room. We control the conversation. But when the person enters the room, our conversation has to change. We can no longer speak in the abstract about the person. He has to be part of the discussion. When Jesus came to earth and contained Himself into His own creation, the storyline took a remarkable turn. He was now here demonstrating to us who He was. No more speculation, no more wondering what He might look like. Here He was. God with us.
My prayer is that Jesus would, everyday, enter into this conversation of seminary. And not just seminary, but anywhere I go. Come in, Jesus. Inhabit. Lead the discussion. Ask the questions. Teach me what it is to know You. And LORD, everyday, may I stand in awe and wonder at the opportunity to be invited to participate.
In the first option, I'm the one basically in charge. I decide what comes in and what goes out. I decide what to spend my energy on and what gets shelved. I choose the questions that get asked and I come up with the answers that 'fit' what I want my theology to look like. And I do this all of the time already in my devotions. I attempt to scale down large, epic narratives in Scripture to my own little backyard playground. I attempt to confine attributes like "holy" and "sovereign" to abstract concepts that prove my faith to be the right one. And the further I head down this road, the more God becomes an acquaintance, someone I know by association, but not someone I know by experience.
But the second option has a different scenery altogether. When I let Him do the narrating, do the telling of the story, do the asking of the questions, I find myself instead the one not doing the inviting but rather the one who was invited. Invited to step into the large, epic narrative and stand in wonder and awe at Who He is and what He's done. "Holy" and "sovereign" become attributes to be celebrated and marveled. The very thought of even being invited into such a marvelous and breathtaking story is completely humbling.
I'm beginning to understand Emmanuel - God with Us in light of all this. I just read an example of this in a reading today on "knowing" God. It's one thing to talk about a person who is not in the room. We control the conversation. But when the person enters the room, our conversation has to change. We can no longer speak in the abstract about the person. He has to be part of the discussion. When Jesus came to earth and contained Himself into His own creation, the storyline took a remarkable turn. He was now here demonstrating to us who He was. No more speculation, no more wondering what He might look like. Here He was. God with us.
My prayer is that Jesus would, everyday, enter into this conversation of seminary. And not just seminary, but anywhere I go. Come in, Jesus. Inhabit. Lead the discussion. Ask the questions. Teach me what it is to know You. And LORD, everyday, may I stand in awe and wonder at the opportunity to be invited to participate.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Who's the main character of my story?
We've been spending some time in our theology course talking about the idea of 'story' as it relates to theology and knowledge. And something that has been standing out to me over these discussions has been the professors' emphasis on contrasting individualism (it's all about me) with corporate identity (it's all about us).
I seem them fighting a hard fight between what the Bible says our stories are about and what our culture says we're about. One professor, as an example, highlighted how our generation approaches the Word of God. Do I come to it looking for little energy drinks of inspiration to get me through my day? Do I see it as my ammo for proving my theology or way of thinking? Do I see it as the manual "How to get into heaven - a 2000 page step by step approach." He highlighted that in each of these examples, the central focus in our motivation is ultimately and unfortunately on us.
And over the past several years, I know God has already begun writing this new chapter in my life by making louder the question - Who is this story of your life about, Chad? He invites us to be a part of the bigger story, the story of redemption rather than leave the story centered on one broken man who found a fix. This doesn't discount personal and individual salvation but it should welcome us to participate in a wedding feast that involves a groom, the Son of Man, and the bride, His church.
When it ends with me, and in my thinking and living, unfortunately, it often does, the story might be entertaining or dramatic for a time but after a short amount of time will be completely forgettable. When it ends with Him, and His glory, and His ultimate plan to use His people to shine His light all over this darkness, we receive the joy of being part of something so much grander, so much larger, so much better, so much more memorable.
I recall some lines I wrote a few years ago when God began to change the course of this story for me:
Every page and every line
Everyone was made to find
Every day a grand design...
The only One, the only God
The only place to find true love
The only hope beyond this life
We were made to wear His glory
We were made to tell His story
We all are monuments
Living our days to display You
To show all the world its about You, around You
Beginning and middle and end
We all are testaments
To make Your name known to all nations
To tell of Your Son and His story, Your glory
He died and then rose again
We all are monuments, testaments, tapestries, open books
Write Your story on our hearts.
I seem them fighting a hard fight between what the Bible says our stories are about and what our culture says we're about. One professor, as an example, highlighted how our generation approaches the Word of God. Do I come to it looking for little energy drinks of inspiration to get me through my day? Do I see it as my ammo for proving my theology or way of thinking? Do I see it as the manual "How to get into heaven - a 2000 page step by step approach." He highlighted that in each of these examples, the central focus in our motivation is ultimately and unfortunately on us.
And over the past several years, I know God has already begun writing this new chapter in my life by making louder the question - Who is this story of your life about, Chad? He invites us to be a part of the bigger story, the story of redemption rather than leave the story centered on one broken man who found a fix. This doesn't discount personal and individual salvation but it should welcome us to participate in a wedding feast that involves a groom, the Son of Man, and the bride, His church.
When it ends with me, and in my thinking and living, unfortunately, it often does, the story might be entertaining or dramatic for a time but after a short amount of time will be completely forgettable. When it ends with Him, and His glory, and His ultimate plan to use His people to shine His light all over this darkness, we receive the joy of being part of something so much grander, so much larger, so much better, so much more memorable.
I recall some lines I wrote a few years ago when God began to change the course of this story for me:
Every page and every line
Everyone was made to find
Every day a grand design...
The only One, the only God
The only place to find true love
The only hope beyond this life
We were made to wear His glory
We were made to tell His story
We all are monuments
Living our days to display You
To show all the world its about You, around You
Beginning and middle and end
We all are testaments
To make Your name known to all nations
To tell of Your Son and His story, Your glory
He died and then rose again
We all are monuments, testaments, tapestries, open books
Write Your story on our hearts.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I don't know much...
As I was getting out of my car returning from school, I had one of those out of body experiences. You know the ones I'm talking about. When you've reached the point of absurd and you finally step back to actually realize it. I was sounding as close to Aaron Neville as a thin, white 37 year old can sound singing the line "I don't know much, but I know I love you..." At first, I didn't know where the line or the song originated because I didn't have the radio on (and if I did I would hope it would not be tuned to a station that would regularly spin this song) but then, after laughing at how ridiculous I was, realized that it actually followed a line of thinking on the drive home. I've realized how little I know. Little I know about language, little I know about theology, little I know about much of anything. But I know I love God. I know I love His mercy. I know I love His perfect and sovereign plan for the world and for my life. I know I love and cherish the forgiveness that was extended to a sinner like me. I know I love the dependent fact that without Him, I would not exist. I really don't know much, but I know I love Him...and join with me in finishing the rest of the chorus (don't pretend you don't know it) - 'and that may be all I need to know.'
There's more to learn, most definitely. But ultimately, my prayer in this whole journey is that what is learned, what fills this brain and heart of mine, leads me to love Him even more deeply.
There's more to learn, most definitely. But ultimately, my prayer in this whole journey is that what is learned, what fills this brain and heart of mine, leads me to love Him even more deeply.
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