The Bible is a complicated book. It has an amazing ability to speak to different people in different ways. It even speaks to the same people in different ways at different times. It has about 774,746 words. Each of them written in Hebrew or Greek. Most of them can be translated multiple ways into English (or Creole or French). So everyone understands it a little differently, and no one can know for sure that they understand it the way it was meant to be understood. But as I like to say, the bible never claims to be true, it claims to be truth—I think there's a difference there.
But that's not my point.
Because it's so complicated, groups will come together and create "systems" to help understand the bible. They are basically lenses through which you read the words on the page. There's liberation theology, which focuses on how Jesus can set you free. There's prosperity theology which focuses on how God wants to make us happy. You can read the bible with a filter for social justice, or feminism. It's all in there, it's just depends on what you want to focus on.
At first glance these systems seem absurd. Why would we want to only look at part of the Bible? Or why would we want to look at the whole Bible through a particular lens that predisposes us to find certain things? Isn't this an intellectually dishonest way to study something? It can be, but I don't believe it has to be. The Bible is too big, too complicated to take in one big gulp. I once had a pastor say that preaching is the art of deciding what NOT to tell the congregation. The bible is not meant to be a giant repository of true information. It's meant to be truth. One day, you see one thing. And the next day, in the very same passage, you'll see something else. These systems are designed to help us focus. That's a good thing.
But that's not my point.
The church gets to choose which system they subscribe to. How they talk about Jesus, which verses they quote. I believe that all too often we preach "Grass is Always Greener Theology". What I mean is this: we study our audience, and tell them what they want to hear. We preach prosperity theology to the poor. Where preach liberation theology to the oppressed. We go the Peace Corp crowd and preach about missions work. We go to the Amnesty International crowd and preach about social injustice.
We figure out what people want, and we tell them that Jesus can get it for them. And it works. The best way to convert people to Christianity is to tell them that it can give them what they want.
But Jesus did not say go make converts, He said go make disciples. "Grass is Always Greener Theology" may put people in seats, but these people are only there to get something. They're not disciples, they're fans. They're not following Jesus, they're consuming him (and I don't mean in the body of Christ sort of way). They're not joining the way of Jesus, they're expecting Jesus to join them.
But what if the church stopped preaching to where people wanted to be and started preaching to where they are? What if we stopped telling people what they want to hear and started telling them what they need to hear? What if we preached the blessings of poverty to the poor, and social justice to the rich? What if we preached submission to the oppressed and liberation to the oppressor? It may not create as many converts, but it would create lot more people who know how to follow Jesus where they are. That's really, I believe, what we all want anyway.
Christmas is Dead, Long Live Christmas
This is the story of us losing Christmas, only to find it. It's not the story in the way my wife would tell it, with pictures and jokes and a way with words that would actually hold your interest. No, I'm trying to figure out what this all means.
About a month ago we swallowed our pride, admitted that would couldn't actually afford presents for our gaggle of children and asked people we know to come together and buy gifts for all our kids. It wasn't actually a difficult ask—we're missionaries, asking for stuff is part of the job description. And it wasn't a difficult sell, we're lucky to have so many people that love us and our kids. But it turned out to be a difficult trip. The gifts were scheduled to come down with some very good friends who were visiting in mid December. However, as it is prone to do, Haiti didn't cooperate. Election violence led to canceled flights which led to a canceled trip and canceled Christmas.
But God, as he is prone to do, appeared in our mess.
Gwenn and I went into crises response mode. Our plan revolved around selling Christmas to our kids, not as a big party for us, but as a birthday for Jesus. I know it sounds super spiritual, but please understand this wasn't by choice, and I'll admit that I was skeptical of the whole idea. But the kids got it. It seemed to make more sense to them than it did to me, and so we ran with it.
And God, as he is prone to do, appeared in our mess.
He turned our inward focus outward. Sure, Christmas has always been about family, but that's still pretty insular, don't you think? What about half-starved women on the verge of death? What about families who have lived under palm fronds for almost a year? What about friends who have needs and we can meet them?
He turned the eleven little animals that usually sit around my dinner table in to perfect little angels eating an amazing dinner at what might possibly be the most beautiful place on earth.
He turned a simple, $5 secret Santa event into the most amazing gift exchange I have ever experienced—complete with chanting, cheering, laughing, screaming, and me receiving underwear.
This is getting sappy, so let's get to the point:
Somehow, in closing the door on "Christmas" (as we're used to it and expected it), the door was opened to heaven. Honestly, I feel like the last two days have been a glimpse of heaven—like Disney World and Friday night dates with my wife. And when did I see heaven? When God showed up in my mess. And when will you see heaven? When God shows up in yours. And how can you show heaven to other people? Show up in theirs.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm now going to go finish the cake that we're eating for dinner. Yes, cake for dinner—this may actually BE heaven.
About a month ago we swallowed our pride, admitted that would couldn't actually afford presents for our gaggle of children and asked people we know to come together and buy gifts for all our kids. It wasn't actually a difficult ask—we're missionaries, asking for stuff is part of the job description. And it wasn't a difficult sell, we're lucky to have so many people that love us and our kids. But it turned out to be a difficult trip. The gifts were scheduled to come down with some very good friends who were visiting in mid December. However, as it is prone to do, Haiti didn't cooperate. Election violence led to canceled flights which led to a canceled trip and canceled Christmas.
But God, as he is prone to do, appeared in our mess.
Gwenn and I went into crises response mode. Our plan revolved around selling Christmas to our kids, not as a big party for us, but as a birthday for Jesus. I know it sounds super spiritual, but please understand this wasn't by choice, and I'll admit that I was skeptical of the whole idea. But the kids got it. It seemed to make more sense to them than it did to me, and so we ran with it.
And God, as he is prone to do, appeared in our mess.
He turned our inward focus outward. Sure, Christmas has always been about family, but that's still pretty insular, don't you think? What about half-starved women on the verge of death? What about families who have lived under palm fronds for almost a year? What about friends who have needs and we can meet them?
He turned the eleven little animals that usually sit around my dinner table in to perfect little angels eating an amazing dinner at what might possibly be the most beautiful place on earth.
He turned a simple, $5 secret Santa event into the most amazing gift exchange I have ever experienced—complete with chanting, cheering, laughing, screaming, and me receiving underwear.
This is getting sappy, so let's get to the point:
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face
Somehow, in closing the door on "Christmas" (as we're used to it and expected it), the door was opened to heaven. Honestly, I feel like the last two days have been a glimpse of heaven—like Disney World and Friday night dates with my wife. And when did I see heaven? When God showed up in my mess. And when will you see heaven? When God shows up in yours. And how can you show heaven to other people? Show up in theirs.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm now going to go finish the cake that we're eating for dinner. Yes, cake for dinner—this may actually BE heaven.
Motivational Trust
I have a problem with trust. I'm working on it, but not in the way you might think. I'm not trying to trust more or better. I'm trying to figure out what trust means. I was mentioning to a friend recently that I believe "trust", whatever that means, is going to be one of the overarching themes I'm thinking about for awhile as I walk through the urinal that has been my life for the last few months. And by walk, I realize that means journey. It's not going to be a quick process as I (re?)discover trust. But every journey has its beginning. And here is mine with trust.
I trust motivation. Here are two examples to let you know what I mean.
1. I know a guy who is all about money. That sounds terrible, but I don't mean it that way. I'm simply making an observation—the main motivation behind his life is money. Now many Christians would tell me to stay away from a guy like this. If he's all about money, then I can't really trust him. But I feel differently. I can trust his motivation. I can always count on him, maybe not to act on my behalf, but I can count on him to act in accordance with his financial best interests. And if I'm being honest, that's been huge for me. There have been more than a few times when people I "trusted" have turned their backs on me, while this man has stood with me. His motivation isn't based on Christ, friendship, or anything abstract. It's based on money, and I can trust that.
2. I know another guy who has huge aspirations, not for money, but for power. He's extremely prideful. He's not a bad guy, I happen to like him, but I understand his motivation. He's a great partner, if you're willing to give him the credit. And he will take care of you, if you take care of him. But if I begin to take his power away, or even appear to. If I injure his pride, or even appear to. I can trust him to come after me with everything he's got. I can trust that.
It reminds me of a quote from the bible (John 2:23-25):
So that's where I'm starting. I don't necessarily trust people, but I trust their motivation.
I trust motivation. Here are two examples to let you know what I mean.
1. I know a guy who is all about money. That sounds terrible, but I don't mean it that way. I'm simply making an observation—the main motivation behind his life is money. Now many Christians would tell me to stay away from a guy like this. If he's all about money, then I can't really trust him. But I feel differently. I can trust his motivation. I can always count on him, maybe not to act on my behalf, but I can count on him to act in accordance with his financial best interests. And if I'm being honest, that's been huge for me. There have been more than a few times when people I "trusted" have turned their backs on me, while this man has stood with me. His motivation isn't based on Christ, friendship, or anything abstract. It's based on money, and I can trust that.
2. I know another guy who has huge aspirations, not for money, but for power. He's extremely prideful. He's not a bad guy, I happen to like him, but I understand his motivation. He's a great partner, if you're willing to give him the credit. And he will take care of you, if you take care of him. But if I begin to take his power away, or even appear to. If I injure his pride, or even appear to. I can trust him to come after me with everything he's got. I can trust that.
It reminds me of a quote from the bible (John 2:23-25):
Many people saw the signs he was performing and believed in his name. But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all people. He did not need any testimony about mankind, for he knew what was in each person.
So that's where I'm starting. I don't necessarily trust people, but I trust their motivation.
The Body of Christ
In our church here in Haiti they (we) celebrate communion every week. As they were passing out the bread and the wine today, Nico began to question me: "Is that bonbon?"—the Creole word for cookie or cracker.
"No," I replied, trying not to make too much noise in church.
"What is it?"
That demanded a more in depth answer, but I still wanted to keep things pretty quiet. So I decided to speak over his head: "It's the body of Christ." That shut him up.
But soon Josiah felt like talking too: "Is that bonbon?"
"No." Have you heard this before?
"What is it?"
"It's the body of Christ." That shut him up too.
So after talking over the heads of my boys, I stand for communion—the way we do it is that everyone who is taking communion stands during this part of church. Everyone else sits. And really, it's not the majority of people that participate—no children, very few young people, mostly older people and missionaries. That not what I'm used to. Basically, everyplace I've ever done communion, everyone participates. I even took communion at the National Cathedral once (if you're Catholic, I apologize for pooping on your tradition).
So I stand for communion, and I'm thinking about what I told my boys. I'm thinking about the Body of Christ. And I realize why so few people are standing with me. These are the people that truly identify with Christ. There are a lot people that go to this church. Maybe they follow Jesus. But the people that were standing there with me were forsaking their individual identity and standing as the body of Christ.
Then I started thinking about something my wife always says. We can't preach the good news of Christ (the gospel) in Haiti when everyone looks around and all they see is bad news.
Put more practically, we can't expect people to listen to us talk about what their soul needs, if we're not willing to give them what their body needs (food, clean water, work, etc). In other words, you can't serve the soul without serving the body.
So I looked at these people standing around me. The people that identified themselves as the body of Christ. There were only three that were standing in the general vicinity of me and my wife—my staff. They are the body of Christ in my life. They are the people that stand with me everyday and serve me.
That reminded me of a moment earlier in the morning. I was having trouble finding something in the house. I started to get frustrated with the staff member I believed was responsible for this problem. So I was sharing with Gwenn how this particular staff member was acting more and more like a child, and less and less like staff—"I'm not here for her" was what I said.
But how can I serve Christ if I'm not serving His body? Maybe I've got this all wrong. Sure, I've got a mission here in Haiti. Yes, I'm here for the orphaned and abandoned. I agree, I'm here to build families.
But if my staff is the Body of Christ in my life. And you can't serve the soul if you don't serve the body. Then I can't serve Christ if I'm not serving my staff.
"No," I replied, trying not to make too much noise in church.
"What is it?"
That demanded a more in depth answer, but I still wanted to keep things pretty quiet. So I decided to speak over his head: "It's the body of Christ." That shut him up.
But soon Josiah felt like talking too: "Is that bonbon?"
"No." Have you heard this before?
"What is it?"
"It's the body of Christ." That shut him up too.
So after talking over the heads of my boys, I stand for communion—the way we do it is that everyone who is taking communion stands during this part of church. Everyone else sits. And really, it's not the majority of people that participate—no children, very few young people, mostly older people and missionaries. That not what I'm used to. Basically, everyplace I've ever done communion, everyone participates. I even took communion at the National Cathedral once (if you're Catholic, I apologize for pooping on your tradition).
So I stand for communion, and I'm thinking about what I told my boys. I'm thinking about the Body of Christ. And I realize why so few people are standing with me. These are the people that truly identify with Christ. There are a lot people that go to this church. Maybe they follow Jesus. But the people that were standing there with me were forsaking their individual identity and standing as the body of Christ.
Then I started thinking about something my wife always says. We can't preach the good news of Christ (the gospel) in Haiti when everyone looks around and all they see is bad news.
Put more practically, we can't expect people to listen to us talk about what their soul needs, if we're not willing to give them what their body needs (food, clean water, work, etc). In other words, you can't serve the soul without serving the body.
So I looked at these people standing around me. The people that identified themselves as the body of Christ. There were only three that were standing in the general vicinity of me and my wife—my staff. They are the body of Christ in my life. They are the people that stand with me everyday and serve me.
That reminded me of a moment earlier in the morning. I was having trouble finding something in the house. I started to get frustrated with the staff member I believed was responsible for this problem. So I was sharing with Gwenn how this particular staff member was acting more and more like a child, and less and less like staff—"I'm not here for her" was what I said.
But how can I serve Christ if I'm not serving His body? Maybe I've got this all wrong. Sure, I've got a mission here in Haiti. Yes, I'm here for the orphaned and abandoned. I agree, I'm here to build families.
But if my staff is the Body of Christ in my life. And you can't serve the soul if you don't serve the body. Then I can't serve Christ if I'm not serving my staff.
Shaken
Once you are rooted in reality, nothing can shake you. If your faith is in experiences, anything that happens is likely to upset that faith.
- Oswald Chambers
So what does it say about me that my faith is shaken by my experiences?— Back to the drawing board :(
- Nick
- Oswald Chambers
So what does it say about me that my faith is shaken by my experiences?— Back to the drawing board :(
- Nick
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