Author: Jon Partlow

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Leveling the Playing Field

My brother, David, is three years my elder. My namesake was the best friend to King David, as our names were to define our relationship. And growing up, it did. Like the biblical David and Jonathan in the Bible, my brother and I shared much of our lives. We inhabited the same bedroom, even sleeping on bunk beds for a while. We collected baseball cards. We climbed the cherry tree in our backyard. We delivered papers together on our matching Schwinn Heavy-Duty bicycles. An open game of Monopoly was set up as we kept a continuous game moving forward. (On a side note, I never beat him, but I always owned Park Place and Boardwalk, the only property I wanted to own, which may explain why I never beat him.) We played baseball, basketball, and whiffle ball. Playing basketball in the backyard is where David figured out how to level the playing field.

The patio in our backyard was a perfect spot for either one-on-one or two-on-two basketball. The uniqueness of the court was the patio roof, which was some eleven to twelve feet high, allowing the backboard to be securely snugged between the porch roof and the patio ceiling. It also meant shooting outside shots took a lot of skill, because we had no room for an arch. On the plus side, the rim was just over eight feet which made for some good slam dunks when we were teens. David, on the other hand, being older and bigger than me, simply backed me down under the hoop for an easy hook shot or layup.

We loved playing together, but David had the upper hand. He took complete advantage of his size, and rightly so. But let’s be honest, neither one of us had a fun time, especially me. So he develop a game in order to level the playing field. The rules were simple. The score is tied with twenty-four seconds left in the game. We have a five second shot clock. David was in charge of keeping the “game clock,” and I was in charge of the “shot clock.” After every dead ball, he reiterated how much time was left in “the game.” Amazingly, his idea worked. He didn’t have time to back me down as he had to put up a quick shot. I, on the other hand, had a fighting chance to score. If my memory serves me right, we generally split the series, making his idea a success. The playing field was leveled.

As much as we want to believe that everyone stands on equal footing to succeed at life, the truth is far from reality. The playing field is hardly level. Some people have an easier time navigating life than others, the reasons are varied and often complex. For instance, while I have been blessed with a lifelong foundation of academic studies – I attended private, strong academic schools – I struggled with my grades. If I was in school today, they would diagnose me with ADHD, instead of just telling me to work harder. “Work harder” was my advice on academic success. Growing up my reading, reading-comprehension, math skills, and recall were always behind the curve. Even today, as much as I love to read, I’m still far slower than most people who hold the same passion. I found myself muddling through school while my classmates thrived. Academics were far from a level playing field, at least for me.

Those who teach will confirm that so many factors come into play which determine the success children have at school. Home life is one of those factors. A child returning home to parents who are engaged, helpful, and encouraging their children to learn have an advantage over a child going home to parents disengaged, absent, or talks despairingly about the school, teacher, or learning in general. Never mind how poverty, race, or the impact of the opioid crisis has had on family life and its link to our educational system. No, the playing field is anything but level.

A few years ago I listened to a speaker share his experience visiting an inmate at a state penitentiary. As he drove through the poorer section of the city in route to the penitentiary, he noticed an old abandoned school, boarded up. Driving further, he saw another school fallen into disarray. Before reaching his destination he discovered a third school facing the same deterioration. He inquired about their status only to be told that the three schools could no longer be funded so they were consolidated. “Oh, did they build a new school?” he probed with hope. “No,” he was told, “they were now meeting in the one school building that was still deemed habitable.” No future plans were made to build a new school, as the county lacked the funds. Soon, their car turned toward the prison. He described it as a brand new, state-of-the-art, multi-million dollar facility with all the bells and whistles appropriately. The correlation and causation were intertwined. No funds were available to invest in education, but plenty of funds to incarcerate uneducated people suffering from a broken system and uneven playing field.

The inequality experience reaches beyond education. Statistics bear out that males make more money than females, while performing the same job. Minorities make even less money when comparing them to those who make up the majority. We saw this over the past few years. As we endured COVID it became clear that everyone was facing the same storm, but not everyone was in the same boat. The playing field is anything but level.

Paul was very aware that the playing field in Palestine was un-evened. Back in Acts 11 a prophet named Agabus foretold that a severe famine was striking the region with devastating effects (Act. 11:27-28). While Luke tells us little of the famine or its impact on the region, information on Paul’s response to the famine is clear. Paul refused to turn the suffering into a judgmental sentencing by God through sermons. Instead he solicited help. Every church throughout Asia-Minor was asked to participate. He appealed to them to collect financial aid as relief to send to those distressed under the devastation.

Paul’s move to collect funds for the churches in and around Jerusalem served two purposes. First, Paul hoped the gesture by the Asia-Minor churches might help bridge the racial gap between the Jew and Gentile believers. Churches in Asia-Minor were predominantly Gentile in nature. Churches in Jerusalem and the surrounding vicinity were, as expected, comprised of Jewish Christians. The Jews had a built-in suspect of Gentile Christians because they ignore key doctrinal issues dear to the heart of the Jews. They rejected circumcision, refused to celebrate holy days like Passover, and ate unclean foods like pork. Paul very likely believed that Gentile churches, collecting funds to help their brothers and sisters in Christ whom they have never met but felt the estrangement, might bring the two groups together. Might. While we don’t know how well the collection helped bridge the gap, it’s not hard not to imagine that the gift helped move the needle some.

Secondly, Paul explicitly says that the collected gift was a means to financially level the playing field. Drawing from the Exodus story, the Israelites woke up every morning to find the ground covered with the wafer God had provided. All they had to do was go out to pick up what their family needed. Quoting from Exodus, Paul notes, “Those who collected much did not have too much, and those who collected little did not have too little” (Ex. 16:18; 2 Cor. 8:15). God provided equality as everybody had as much as they needed.  

Like today, the first century society was comprised of the “haves” and “have-nots.” Balancing the scales among the believers means that the “haves” share with the “have-nots,” so that those who have, can share with those who do not have, in order that all will have some (2 Cor. 8:13). The goal is equality. By being people who are willing to share, we act as a buffer between us and society, a society that wants to keep the playing field disproportionally un-leveled so that those in power can keep their position of power. In our generosity, we help seek equality among the people we encounter.

And the beauty of such generosity is like bread upon the water. Somehow, what is cast upon the water always tends to come back. Always.

I once saw a video of homeless people engaging each other, almost like it was a study in human interaction. A man, pretending to be homeless, approached a number of business people having lunch. The actor tried telling his sad story and how hungry he was only to be turned away by each individual. Later, the actor struck up a conversation with a homeless man, sharing his sad mock story. He casually dropped the detail that he had not eating in four days and was very hungry. They parted ways and he went down the street to sit in a corner to wait out time. Not long afterward, a man arrived with a pizza for the elderly homeless man. Granted, the homeless man was not panhandling, but just sitting looking disheveled. The homeless man graciously, and with great gratitude, thanked the man for the pizza. Then he stood up and walked down the street to find the man pretending to be homeless. He sat next to the man and shared his meal, and not only with him, but with the other homeless as well. In his own little way, that homeless man was leveling the playing field, at least for the moment.

What my twelve-year old brother realized was that life is not fair, but instead of being satisfied with the unfair moment, he stepped in to create a sense of fairness. He brought equity where there was parody. He balanced the terms so that equality was established. It’s what Paul was hoping by collecting aid to send to the believers in Jerusalem during their deadly famine. And when we walk into patient’s homes, we do the same thing.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Transformed

The key to the superhero world is anonymity. I know you’re probably thinking, the key is having superpowers, and you’re probably right. But hear me out. Anonymity not only protects yourself from villains having direct access to your personal life, but anonymity helps protect your loved ones from those same villains seeking revenge. Thus, Batman is the alter-ego for Bruce Wayne. Spider-Man is the superhero name for Peter Parker. Clark Kent is the costume for Kal-El or Superman. Then we have the Transformers who thrive on anonymity. They hide in plain sight, disguised as cars, trucks, semis, airplanes, and at times, even ghetto-blasters.

In the 2007 Transformer movie, Sam Witwicky shops for his first car, financed by his dad of course. He finds a broken down yellow 1977 Camaro. The salesman, Bobby Bolivia, foreshadowed something more when he said, “Drivers don’t pick their cars. The cars pick the driver, as there’s a mystical bond between man and machine.” In Sam’s case Bolivia was right, but he had no idea how right he was.

It’s not long before someone steals Sam’s new car, or at least that’s what he thinks happens. When Sam reports his car stolen to the police, he describes the moment where he discovered the car was a sentinel being, “My car transformed before me.”

I remember the first time watching the movie. The special effects were so clear and detailed that, honestly, believing a car can suddenly transform was not a stretch to the imagination. Even though the cartoons were well after my time, the movie capture the childhood fantasy in me.

Transformed. Like a caterpillar entering its cocoon for a month before emerging as a beautiful and colorful butterfly. Transformed. Like the art of origami, taking a flat 2-D piece of paper and creating an intricate and interesting 3-D form. Transformed. Like a home renovation or fixer upper sponsored by Chip and Joanna Gains who start the deconstruction followed by the reconstruction of a home. Transformed. Like when Bob Harper and Alison Sweeny motivate overly obese people in a boot-camp-like atmosphere to shed the pounds away. Transformed. Like Paul describes the Corinthians after listing the worst of sins, “. . . and that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of Jesus Christ . . .” (1 Cor. 6:11), as he notes that they are not the same people today as when he had introduced them to Jesus. Transformed.

Transformed is an expectation, not wishful thinking. But is it even possible for someone to change? To find someone who has metamorphosed from one type of person into someone totally different feels like a pipe dream. We probably fantasize of such transformation, but live with the disappointment of it never experiencing it. Sadly, we probably know more people who were good and godly turn godless. But what about someone changing into good?  

Paul writes, “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord” (2 Cor. 3:18). Did you catch that, “are being transformed”? Paul draws from the Exodus story when Moses wore a veil after encountering God on Mt. Sinai (v. 13) in order that Israel would not witness his flaming face fading into a dull exposure. Moses’ face, exposed to the brilliance of God’s presence, begins to radiate. He chooses to wear a veil to conceal the dimming of his radiant face. While the story is quite remarkable in and of itself, Paul’s point is that the Old Covenant read without Jesus creates its own veil (v. 15-16). Lifting the veil is reading the Old Covenant through the lenses of Jesus which allows the transformation process to take hold so that we begin to think, talk, and do what Jesus did.

If I could capture this transformation process Paul is talking about, I believe it can be found in exploring the well-known prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, which has been reworked into lyrics for a song. The prayer asks for the Spirit to overcome the natural reaction of the flesh. Where we find hatred, we bring love. Where we stumble upon strife, we speak peace. Where there is darkness, we shine his light (not our light, but God’s light). Here’s the words of this song:

“Lord make us instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase.
Lord make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease|
When we are your instruments of peace.

Where there is hatred, we will show your love
Where there is injury, we will never judge.
Where there is striving, we will speak his peace
To the millions crying for release,
We will be his instruments of peace.

Where there is blindness, we will pray for sight.
Where there is darkness, we will shine his light.
Where there is sadness, we will bear their grief
To the millions crying for relief,
We will be your instruments of peace.

Embracing the prayer of Assisi certainly holds transforming power in and of itself. Not only will it shift our perspective, but once we embrace the prayer, I believe the possibility of people being transformed increases, even if it’s just one person.  

Gene was an unbeliever who was described as harsh, impatient, indifferent, unappreciative, and even unconcerned about the people around him. But this unbeliever met a believer. He ran into a force he had to reckon with when he met Esther.

Their introduction was by two teenage friends, who just happened to be their sons. The boys, seeing something in each parent, devised their own Parent Trap to get them together. But there was a hitch, as this was real life and not a Disney movie: Gene was not a Christian, and Esther was not interested in being unequally yoked to a non-believer. To her credit, not only did she have her faith to consider, but her children as well. Out of the boys’ hands, and even out of Esther’s hands, God began to act. God worked through Esther so that Gene might be transformed.

Gene was willing to study with Esther, and was opened to being mentored. All this fell in line with a man who could see discipleship as an extension of his own discipline. From the guy who chose to eat spam and an oatmeal cream cookie for lunch. Every. Single. Day. Choosing that instead of Esther’s cooking. Or the fact that he went to bed every night at 11:00 – and sent everyone else to bed too. This discipline kicked in and he studied with Esther and he began buying into what she was selling. By the time the two married, he was a Christian man with more transforming to come.

Gene credits his ongoing metamorphosis to the respect he had for Esther. In a journal connected to a men’s class at church, discovered by his family and was composed some ten years in after his wedding day, Gene made clear the source of his change. In his own words, he writes,

“My moral, spiritual, relational standard has been affected greatly with the help and guidance of my wife, Esther” . . . My Esther has influenced me for the better, my whole outlook on life has been completely turned around. I now give more thought to my answer and more of a Christian response in all my actions, thanks to her evidence in my quest to live a Christian life.”

When I think of Gene, I’ll always remember him sitting by Esther’s side at the hospital while his bride was recovering from a fall. He sat by her side he gently held her hand, patting the top of it, and refusing to leave her. I didn’t know then, but I know now that I was witnessing the end product of God working through Esther to transform Gene so that . . .

his harshness gave way to gentleness,
his impatience surrendered to patience,
his indifferent submitted to compassion,
his un-appreciativeness conceded to thankfulness,
and his unconcerned mindset yielded to a caring man.

As we circle back around to the 2007 Transfomers movie, Sam and would be girlfriend, Mikaela, are given a choice. Danger is already upon them, which they can embrace the unknown future including the unknown risks and perils, or they can walk away, trying to return to a normal life. The key word is “try.” Bumblebee has the car door open for them – that 1977 yellow Camaro form – while they ponder their decision. Sam looks at Mikaela and says, “Fifty years from now, when you look at your life, don’t you want to say you had the guts to get in the car?” Suddenly, perspective is clear, and the choice becomes a no-brainer. The adventure awaits them as they climb into the car.

Jesus has a door open for you and he’s inviting you to the process of transformation. It’s a lifelong process. The question is, are you going to ignore the invitation and try to resume your so-called normal life, or are you going to accept the invitation and get in for the ride of your life?

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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A New Way to See

The other day I picked up a pair of glasses from my nightstand. They looked like my pair. The frames were black on the outside and blue on the inside, and shaped just like mine. But when I put them on I saw with amazing clarity, more so than I’ve ever seen before. Were they really my glasses? If so, I was reminded just how near-sighted I really was.

I remember my first pair of glasses. I was in seminary and distinctly recalled seeing the fuzzy highway signs. My wife and I competed on who could read them first. She did. Every. Single. Time. So I went to the eye doctor and he ordered me my first pair of glasses. When I got them, I looked out at the trees and noticed the individual leaves blowing in the wind. Amazing clarity, which I had forgotten existed.

So as I was saying, the other day I picked up a pair of glasses which I thought were mine. I put them on and not only did I realize how blind I was, but I saw clearer than I had for a long time. The first thing I noticed was my wife. Much of her inner qualities that often get covered up by the daily grind, made their way to the surface. I saw the beauty of her compassion, and how her hurt for the people around her leads to action. I was captivated by the loveliness of her generosity. She was working on her famous “Jesus Bread,” gently kneading the dough as she was putting them into pans. She had a list. “I plan on giving a loaf to Bill, Joyce, and the staff at the doctor’s office. Does your office need a loaf today?” I was looking at her like it was the first time I ever saw her.

I turned around and saw my daughter who was visiting for the weekend. Her husband is currently deployed. Suddenly, the dedication she has for raising her daughter as a “semi-single parent” weighed heavy on me. While I had not noticed it before, now I couldn’t help but notice her. The time she takes to engage her daughter as they chase each other around the house and filling each room with laughter rushed over me. In her husband’s absence she’s making decisions all by herself and the burden is heavy. I saw her enduring patience in getting her daughter potty-trained. It’s been a difficult road, but she keeps moving forward.

I noticed my granddaughter, her pure and innocent joy, full of life and love. Actually, nothing changed about seeing my granddaughter with my new glasses. She’s still perfect.

With my new pair of glasses I ventured out into the world. Still amazed by the clarity of vision, someone cut me off. I saw them. I noticed that they weren’t rude or mean, just distracted driving. I took the moment in stride noting how often I had been distracted while driving, and no doubt endangered people around me without realizing it.

As I reached my first visit, the patient lived in deplorable conditions. Trash was everywhere and the stench was nauseating. The house should be condemned. The patient is bedridden. Normally, the bugs and cockroaches churn my stomach, and my sense of justice kicks in as this patient is a Vietnam vet. But this time I saw something else. I saw a kind and gentle heart. I saw a broken man who once answered the call of duty, only to be betrayed and a victim of Agent Orange. I saw a man worried about his family wondering who will take care of them when he’s gone. Normally I see the bugs crawling on him. This time I didn’t see bugs, not because they weren’t there, but because I saw him, and maybe for the first time.  

As I drove through town, I saw a man sitting on a park bench. He looked disheveled, unkempt, like it had been a long time since he had a bath. The man looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place the face. Normally, I never give homeless people the time of day. They made their bed and now they can lie in it. Besides they’re just milking the system, at least that how I usually rationale my judgmental attitude. But today something was nagging me. Something kept telling me that his face looked familiar. My conscience told me to act, to get this man some lunch. So I turned into the nearest drive-through and ordered a meal, and the whole time I kept thinking that something about his face was familiar, like I had seen him before. I pulled around to where the man was and parked my car. I got out and walked up to the man. His eyes lit up, and as I handed him the lunch. He said, “You got this for me?” Then I it dawned on me who he looked like. Because “when you do for the least of these,” the least of these looks like . . . with my new glasses on . . . he looked just like Jesus.

That evening when I got home I couldn’t help but tell Cile all about what I had seen. I have to admit how much of a game-changer those glasses were.

Later that evening Cile asked me to go to the store for potatoes and an onion. As I was headed out the door, she asked me, “Don’t you want to wear your new glasses?” I thought for a moment, but only for a moment, and dismissed her suggestion. “Na,” I said as I walked out the door, “I’ll only be gone for a minute!” I should have listened to her.

When I entered the store I went to the produce section to grab the needed items. The onion was an easy grab, the potatoes needed better quality control. I searched through a half a dozen bags looking for ones not on the struggle bus. Every bag looked like one or two were already going bad, which I knew would ruin the whole bunch. I sighed, thinking that I have to tell Cile to inspect everyone first before storing them and I was frustrated that I was paying for less than a better product. I was throwing my money away. But then I got in line, and in my luck, the guy was paying for his groceries. I’ll be back on the road no time. Nope. I stood there while he and the cashier small talked. I stood there. I kept standing there. I wanted to go home, not stand in line waiting for a conversation to end. When I finally got to check out, I said nothing but I wanted to say something. Boy, did I want to say something! I got my items and left.

As I walked into the house, my wife greeted me warmly. Reading my body language and facial expression she asked me what was wrong. I was moody and edgy as I related to her what had happened. She looked at me without saying anything. She didn’t need to say anything. I wished I had worn my new glasses.    

Paul says that “. . . from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once did regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer” (2 Cor. 5:16). Since we have a new perspective, we no longer view people in the same way as the rest of the world views people. We avoid transactional relationships. We stop dehumanizing people. We drop the labels. We quit villainizing people because of their religion, politics, nationality, and favorite sports team. We avoid turning folks into theological or political issues. We no longer burn bridges, but work to rebuild them. We press the brakes on deceptive tactics like manipulation and favoritism as we see people through the eyes of Jesus. The hurt, pain, and beauty of the Imago Dei – someone made in the image of God – comes into sharper focus. Paul admits that we used to view Jesus that way, coming from someone who persecuted the church, but does so no longer. Since we don’t, we look for another framework by which to see and understand the people around us.

Steven Covey talks about a time when he probably wished he had a new pair of glasses. He was on a subway minding his own business in a sea of people disengaged from each other. Some were reading newspapers, others were lost in thought, while others were resting their eyes. Immediately, a man entered the subway with his children, choosing of all places to sit, he sat next to Covey. The man closed his eyes while his children were loud and disruptive. The mood on the subway instantly changed. The man closed his eyes while his children ran around, yelling, throwing things, and grabbing people’s newspapers. All the while, the man refused to engage his children or to control them.

Covey says he was irritated. The problem with parenting today is the lack of discipline. Kids get free reign of the home and in this case the public square. Body language and eye rolls among the other people on the subway confirmed what Covey believed; someone needs to step in and to take control of this situation. So Covey, after what he felt like was plenty of time for the man to intervene, spoke up. “Sir, your children are really disturbing a lot of people. I wonder if you couldn’t control them a bit more?”

Covey described what happened next.

The man lifted his gaze as if to come to a consciousness of the situation for the first
time and said softly, “Oh, you’re right. I guess I should do something about it. We just
came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago. I don’t know what
to think, and I guess they don’t know how to handle it either.”*

As if Covey had been handed a new pair of glasses which he put on, he saw with crystal clear clarity. Instead of rudeness, he saw pain; instead of apathy, he saw suffering; instead of disengagement, he saw the void; instead of seeing a person lacking parenting skills, he saw a parent lacking his partner.

Ashamedly, Covey turned to the man and asked, “Can I help you get home?”

The other day I got a new pair of glasses. When I put them on I saw with amazing clarity. I saw other people differently through the lenses of grace and mercy. I saw myself differently too. While all of my negative traits were plain for all to see, so was the grace and mercy. So if you’re looking for a new pair of glasses, see me and I’ll forward you the contact information on the doctor who prescribed them.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)

* from Steven Covey, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.

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Church Hurt

“What do you do if you see a person walking down the street with a knife plunged into their back?” My high school Bible teacher asked the rhetorical question to a room full of freshmen. I attended a Christian school where daily Bible Classes were part of the core curriculum. We looked at him, wide-eyed, and almost hypnotized like a deer looking into the headlights of oncoming traffic. No one had an answer, and no one dared to speak, including me as I was thinking, “We haven’t covered first aid in health class yet!?”

My Bible teacher was not interested in physical knives thrust into the back of helpless victims. He was making a point about the way students of this Christian school weaponized their words against each other, particularly behind each other’s backs. In retrospect, it may have been my first exposure to the darker side of church or parachurch organizations that leads to church hurt.

No, I take that back. The first church hurt moment I remember involved a pastor who felt persecuted. He believed that he and his church were being attacked by outside forces, including the government. Truth be known, people were raising suspicions about abuse in his church. The pastor decided to run and take his church with him. He ordered construction on a compound in Guyana, named it after himself, and made his escape. Within three years the abuse accusations continue to surface, and word was it that people wanted out. With the government coming down on the cult, November 18, 1978 Jim Jones of the People’s Temple orchestrated a mass murder-suicide.

I was in the seventh grade and the coverage was all over the news. One of my teachers suspended teaching and spent three class periods debriefing the incident. We talked about our feelings and our fears and tried to get our heads wrapped around the Christian faith taking such a dark turn.

Church is supposed to be a safe place, a harbor, in the midst of the storm, or a gathering “where everybody knows your name.” Scars are supposed to heal through church, not become the source of the scars. If Acts 2 is the ideal church community, then coming together includes teaching or instruction, sharing both a meal and communion, prayer, being together, fellowshipping, and finding commonality rooted in praising God, all the while lost people are sought out and found (Act. 2:42-47). I love the lines, “they had everything in common” and “gave to anyone who had need” (Act. 2:44,45). I don’t know about you, but it makes me want to pursue that kind of church.

But somewhere along the way, things went wrong. Very wrong. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the church hurt to begin.

Paul had established the church in Corinth, but the very church he planted began rejecting him. He describes his relationship to the church as an affectionate father never withholding love from his children (2 Cor. 6:11-12), but they were withholding love from him. Truth be known, they became mesmerized by the flashy preachers with their charismatic, bigger-than-life personalities, oratory skills, and letters of recommendations listing all of their accomplishments. Suddenly, Paul looked weak, vulnerable, and less impressive. But something dark and sinister was metastasizing in Corinth, and its source was these antagonistic leaders stealing Paul’s flock. Paul saw it first: their charisma was outpacing their character. Left unchecked, it was not going to end well.

By 2 Corinthians 11:19-20, just before Paul dares to go toe-to-toe with these antagonists he calls, “super-apostles” (12:11), and his words are dripping with sarcasm. He exposed the fraudulent Oz behind the curtain to the church. He shows them/us just what is behind their charisma, and it’s not their high quality character. And while he asks them to put up with some of his nonsense, they have been putting up with a lot worse. A lot worse. First, he says that the antagonists have “enslaved them,” possibly by domineering or lording their authority over the church to which Corinth easily surrendered their will. When you give up free thinking to be shackled by the personality of someone else you lose your freedom in Christ. Secondly, he says they “exploit” the church by preying on them with predator-like aggression. Star struck by the persona of these leaders they were easily fed upon. Members likely opened their homes to them as they overstayed their welcome, milking their resources dry. Thirdly, they are “taking advantage of” the church as if these leaders were fishing and dangling the bait before the Corinthians. Like hungry fish, they were easily caught because the fish are biting. Fourthly, they “push themselves forward” by self-promotion or making sure they were first. They have an overinflated ego which when fed, is like trying to fill the stomach of a teenage boy; their egos were never satisfied. Finally, Paul accuses them of “slapping them in the face,” which is physically abusive language. The phrase “slap in the face” is a tame translation to which Paul is trying to underscore the violent behavior of these leaders and the Corinthians’ willingness to submit to such men. They smiled and oozed with love until pushed and their façade crumbled to the ground.

Paul doesn’t tell us what the fallout would be by following such leadership, he probably doesn’t need to. Instead, he takes a parting satirical shot at his church when he says, “To my shame I admit that (I) was too weak for that” (v. 21a). I don’t know about you, but I can see an apostolic eye-roll as Paul wrote those words.

I wish the evidence of church hurt was limited to Corinth as an anomaly. But predatory behavior can be found throughout the New Testament where church leaders feed off of the people they are called to protect. No, unfortunately, Corinth only exposed the real possibility that church hurt can exist. Church hurt does exist.

The trail of hurt caused by churches is long and well documented. Books have been written, podcasts recorded, and films that have been produced. They are dark, deadly, and dangerous which does not take too much time to give a person the heebie-jeebies. If the abuse is not bad enough, the cover up is always worse. Always, especially when the church chooses to protect the guilty and not the innocent. When such criminal activity is exposed, and they need exposing, it sheds a much needed light on man’s sinful nature to control, manipulate, exploit, and milk the people for the self-gratuitous nature of the church leader(s). 

Church hurt can be seen on a spectrum or a continuum. Certainly, Paul’s depiction in Corinth is bad, and potentially extreme. What some have experienced in their lifetime may be worse. Far more worse. On the other side of the spectrum, church hurt occurs because people coming together is like porcupines hugging. We don’t mean to, but by close proximity, we end up hurting each other. A careless word, or silence when a word should have been spoken, hurts. Someone getting their way, again or being left out, hurts. And when the Bible is weaponized instead of properly exposed, the fallout is great, and the pain rarely goes away.  

The truth is we’ve all been hurt by church, me included. I could tell you stories and describe the scars I carry. They are visible. They are real. But as I reflect on this moment, I confess. I’ve hurt people too. I know three men whom I engaged with as middle-school kids years ago when I confronted and spoke harsh words to them. One of them preaches for a church and is doing a wonderful ministry. I’d love to take credit for the direction of his life. I can’t. He is not a minister because of me and my words to him, but in spite of me. The two other men are no longer in church. I don’t believe I had anything to do with their dropout, but I was not the reason they stayed in church either. I can point the finger at those who cause church hurt, but three are pointing right back at me. And those fingers sting.

So I live with guilt and shame, as I pray for God’s grace and mercy. I believe God extends it to me, which is why I have to remind myself to extend that same grace and mercy to the church. Since I need it, I know the church God established needs it as well.

As for the church, until confession and repentance for its destructive behavior, its cover-up, and its decision to protect the villain instead of the victim – which is so well documented – materializes, I’m afraid the church will continue to struggle for relevance, relationship, and restoration. People are hurting. They are angry. The abuse they experienced was allowed, and those in power used their position to hurt, not to heal. The church has been anything but Acts 2. The church has been anything but Jesus to the world.

Remember the story about the knife in the back? I guess what should have happened is that someone – like the church – needs to gently remove the knife, wash the wound, apply an oil-healing balm, and needed pressure so that the wound will heal and life may be restored. It may take time, but it will heal. Finally, let’s hold the one(s) who wielded the knife accountable for the damage caused to the victim(s).

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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The Great Escape

Famous comedian Jack Benny was recognized twice with an Emmy for his work on his namesake television show in both 1958 and 1959. In 1988 he was inducted into the Emmy Hall of Fame for his lifetime of work. When he received his award, I’m thinking it was probably the one in 1988, his dry, banal self-deprecating comedic humor kicked-in as he confessed, “I don’t deserve this award, but I have arthritis and I don’t deserve that either.”

A humble personal perspective from one of the greatest comedians of his era. I’m sure he appreciated the recognition, but it did not define him as a person, actor, or a comedian.

I have a friend in ministry who says, “I don’t deserve the praise lavished on me by my parishioners who believe I’m angelic, any more than I deserve the condemnation by my parishioners who believe I’ve been sent by the devil himself.”

Once again, a humble personal perspective from one of my favorite preachers. He is who he is, and is not defined by either the compliments or the accusations. I’m sure he lives somewhere in between the extremes. I’m just sure we can say the same about ourselves.  

Gayle Erwin once wrote a book called The Jesus Style. In it he defined the humility of Jesus as one who was neither moved by those who lavished compliments on him, nor disturbed by those who heaped insults on him. He was not flattered when his opponents tried to butter him up, any more than when they were saucy toward him. Jesus defined himself by his relationship to God, and the people he engaged had little to do with moving the needle.

A personal perspective wrapped in humility helps keep one grounded.

Tom Brokaw chronicled the GI Generation and dubbed them The Greatest Generation. They were the ones born, raised, and molded by the hardship and poverty of the Great Depression. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, they answered the call to go fight the war. Many of them were not interested in killing people, but were committed to stopping evil spread throughout the world. After winning the war, they returned stateside. Many returned to their homes where they lived out their lives quietly seeking an education, farming, working, and raising a family while never speaking of their experiences overseas. Some ventured back to the Pacific Islands, to Japan, Europe, or to the ends of the earth as missionaries because they saw the need to bring Jesus to those lands. Others, like John F. Kennedy, Bob Dole, and George H.W. Bush ventured into politics motivated less by power and more by service. Still others became scientists who figured out how to put a man on the moon and bring him home again. They built the infrastructure of America, physically, spiritually, and morally.

Brokaw was right in labeling these men and women The Greatest Generation, but if you asked those who were part of such feats, they might say otherwise. They probably would defer to America’s Founding Fathers as the Greatest Generation commenting, “We just answered a call,” or “We just served our country,” or “We just tried to do what’s right.”

A personal perspective wrapped in humility allows people to say what they will about you without changing who you are.

The apostle Paul clearly had experienced some of this himself. Not just the negative barrage of conflict where he was accused of being “bold on paper, but timid face-to-face” (2 Cor. 10:1, 10), but also the danger of being placed on some pedestal where he might be set up to fail.

Following Paul’s Damascus Road Conversion, he started preaching Jesus. Being a Pharisee, he was already immersed in Scripture. He didn’t need more Scripture, he needed his ego checked and blinders removed to understand Scripture (don’t we all?). Once that happened, everything fell into the place. The one who persecuted the church became its greatest advocate and ally. Boldly, he started connecting the dots for the people to show how Jesus is the long awaited Messiah who fulfilled Scripture. All of which baffled people on either side of Paul.

Luke tells us two things happened. First, the believers in Damascus questioned Paul’s authenticity. “How could someone change on a dime and transform that fast?” Mind you, Paul had been breathing out murderous threats against the church (Act. 9:1) and suddenly he’s ok with the church? Paul had been given letters by the High Priest himself to journey from Jerusalem to Damascus to arrest those who follow Jesus. How could one be turned so quickly? Most of us change very little, if we change at all. Rarely do we see someone turn one hundred and ninety degrees almost overnight. But Paul did change, and that bothered a number of people. We know that ultimately Barnabas went to bat for Paul and vouched for his character which seemed to settle the matter with the church (Act. 9:27). But in the present moment, people were slow to throw their hats in the ring with this new convert.

Secondly, Luke says that Paul’s “turn-coat” upset the Jews who sent him to Damascus in the first place. No kidding. He failed his mission, which stirred up a hornets nest. The Jews did not want him playing for the other team. I wouldn’t, would you? They knew how much damage Paul could do to their theology and to their power. He knew Scripture and he had direct knowledge of the inner-workings of the Jewish religious organization. He had the dirt on them, and they knew it. Likely feeling scorned, scared, and snubbed, they sought out to settle the score by plotting to kill him.

This is when the story gets good. Paul learns of the plot and how his new adversaries where guarding all the exits to the city to set up an ambush. What is Paul to do? Those who dared to align with Paul found a basket, a huge basket, large enough to hold a man, and put him in it. In the middle of the night, they lowered Paul through a window and over the wall of the city so that he could escape and go to Jerusalem.

Simply heroic. At least that’s the way I had always been taught to read that story. Paul outsmarted the villains and beat them at their own game. They should have penned a medal on him and given him an award. When that story is read in church, we should stand and cheer like we do when our sports team makes an incredible play. And that’s the way I have heard and read that story from Luke’s perspective in Acts 9 all my life. And it’s not wrong.

But Paul tells the story differently. As the apostle finishes his essay on boasting about the things that show his weaknesses in 2 Corinthians 11, he briefly covers his great escape. This story is Paul’s final attempt to show how God works through his weaknesses. He says that the governor of Damascus, ruling under King Aretas, had the city guarded with orders to arrest him. Paul is not just name dropping, but giving the Corinthians a time, place, and credibility to his story. These are real people in real time. Then he adds, without any fanfare, a stripped down version of the story. He simply says, “But I was lowered in a basket from a window in the wall and slipped through his hands” (11:33).

I can sense the shame where Paul was willing to stay and fight, but instead of fighting he left the city like a dog with his tail between his legs. Remember, Paul is not telling this story out of strength to show how smart or brave he was, he’s telling this story to show off his weakness, and dare I say, his coward-ness. Here Paul shows a man totally dependent upon God for his survival.

Reliance on God is the sign of humility. No longer dependent our own strength, brilliance, insight, or ingenuity, or more to the point, we no longer seek affirmation or someone’s approval, we seek the applause of heaven. We rest knowing that God is good enough, because to God we’re good enough. We are not good enough, it’s just to God we’re good enough. So we cut through the noise and the calls and the messaging that either props us up or tears us down in order to hear the clear voice of God. Relying on that voice is the basis for humility.

Nothing is wrong with Luke’s depiction of Paul’s escape from Damascus. He was writing from his perspective to fit his narrative all the while guided by the Holy Spirit. Nothing is wrong with Paul’s telling of his escape either as it fits his narrative all the while guided by the Holy Spirit. What is important to remember is that what people say about you may be true or false, good or bad, righteous or unrighteous, but it’s what they say about you. What you say or think about yourself in your relationship to God is more important, because a humble personal perspective always trumps any other perspective.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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We Make It Our Goal to Please Him

On the edge of settling in the land of Canaan, some of the land has been conquered, while much was still a wild territory still needing tamed. Joshua will not be with them during the next phase of their journey as he will soon age-out. He will not leave them, though, without a final message. After rehearsing Israel’s story, he offers an altar call, challenging the people of God to make a choice. They can either serve the gods their forefathers served, including the ones in Egypt, Mesopotamia, and the ones now in Canaan. Or, they can serve the One True God who led them from bondage through the wilderness and found victory during the early days of the conquest. Joshua’s conclusion is succinctly focused: who will they decide to serve?

Joshua touches on a theme relevant to life. We will serve something. History has proven this point time and time again. Humanity will serve gods created in the imagination of the human mind. Dark things always emerge from humanity’s mind, especially when tied to religion. For instance, who thought that such dark deep debauchery, like offering children as live sacrifices to Molech, was a good idea?

If Joshua were speaking to today, he might assess our culture differently and add a different god we tend to serve: ourselves. We can be so self-absorbed that we think of no one else but ourselves. Our rugged individualism drives our personal decisions so often that we hurt those around us, or most dear to us. We are not an island in and of ourselves, but we act like it, without ever realizing how our lives are so interconnected like a jigsaw puzzle. We can serve God, but it’s almost like we make it our goal to please ourselves.

Paul may not have Joshua in mind when he writes, “So we make it our goal to please him” (2 Cor. 5:9), but there may be a connection. While Joshua speaks of choosing to serve someone or something, Paul assumes we are choosing to serve God. Indeed, he ups the ante from simply serving to our goal of pleasing God. From our part we want God to experience great pleasure through our serving him. Let’s switch that narrative: from God’s part he wants to take great pleasure in our serving him.

Can you let that wash over you a bit? God takes great pleasure from our service to him. Like a child who draws you a picture and it gets mounted to your refrigerator; like a teenager who voluntarily busses the table and washes the dishes without being asked (at least more than once) and your heart is warmed; or when a patience receives foot care from a nurse or an aide and an amazing sense of relief comes over the patient.

Unlike the gods created in the minds of humanity where one never knows how to please their deities, or where they stand with them, or how the rules change from year-to-year or mood-to-mood. Our God is a god who not only takes pleasure in us but wants to take pleasure in his people. And our God is consistent with what pleases him.

When we extend the comfort received from God to others,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we forgive those who have trespassed against us,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we are paraded before the public as a stench,
                God smells a fragrant aroma and takes great pleasure in us.
When we check our motives and agendas at the door,
              God takes great pleasure in us.
When we experience the transformation power of the gospel so our lives conform to his
will,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we feel our fragile brokenness and refuse to lose heart,
                God takes great pleasure in the gospel planted in our lives.
When we endure suffering as a mark of an act of following in Jesus’ footsteps,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we no longer burn bridges but take steps toward reconciliation,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we operate out of generosity for others who are suffering,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we finally see the shallowness of the celebrity glitz and glamor side of ministry,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
God takes great pleasure in us,
                Because God wants to take great pleasure in us.
So indeed, we make it our goal to please God.*

For eight years of my life I gave myself to competitive running. I know something of goals and motivation. Through high school and college I set my goals and worked toward them. I sacrificed and prioritized my life around running. I gave up sleeping-in or skipped parties that went late into the night. At the same time I made a list and set to accomplish them from running varsity, to school records, to conference championships, to State and National recognition. Some goals I achieved, others I never quite reached. Goals are important, but motivation to achieve those goals are as well. Looking back on those years, sometimes I lacked the motivation of the daily grind of running.

Paul offers the incentive for us to step out as we work to please God. While we find encouragement knowing that God takes pleasure in us, Paul, none-the-less, heightens our desire to achieve our goal of pleasing him. In 2 Corinthians 5 Paul offers us two motivations: a positive one and a not-so-negative one.

The Positive Motivation is from verse 8 when he says, “We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” This is not the only time Paul makes this claim, he makes it three times. In verse 6 he says, “. . . that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord,” and then after stating our goal is to please him, he adds, “. . . whether we are at home in the body or away from it” (v.9). All three times he alludes to our “bodies” being the physical barrier that prevents us from reaching God. In some ways we’re trapped as the physical body limits us. We cannot see God, except by faith. We cannot touch God, apart from faith. We cannot stand in his presence, but through faith. The body we inhabit, in many ways, keeps us away from God. No wonder we feel times of drought, believing God is so far away from us.

Paul is acknowledging the limited reality of our physical bodies, though he knows that one day we will be with the Lord. This thought is the positive motivation for pleasing God. We will see him and be with him and stand in his presence. All the pain will be gone. All the comfort we long for will be given. The scars of Jesus will permanently heal our scars. No more sin. No more remorse. No more shame. Pure joy and love will surround us. We make it our goal to please God because the payoff will be, not now, but then. The payoff will come when we are with the Lord. Think of it like this, God will return us to innocence of Eden where he will walk with us in the cool of the day. What a powerful image for motivation!

Do you remember that challenge about choosing either a million dollars up front or a penny a day doubled for a month? I’m not a math mathematician, but apparently if you take the million dollars up front you forfeit some four million dollars due to compound interest. Here’s the point, our pleasing God to encounter him later is the long road, not the short cut. We long for and believe in the later payoff, even willing to sacrifice a seemingly short term windfall. Our pleasing God may not pay off now, but it will then. And it will pay big.

The Not-So-Negative Motivation comes from verse 10 where he says, “We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each of us may receive what is due him, for things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” Paul is creating a somber moment where he describes Judgment Day like the tribunal he experienced when was brought before Gallio while ministering in Corinth (Acts 18:12-17). To be held accountable for (words and) actions while in our bodies is sobering for sure. I feel the bite as I have done and said plenty in my life I regret which still haunt me today. That said, Paul is not trying to scare us, but to motivate us to use our lives to please God, something he assumes we want to do.

More importantly, Paul does not mention “condemnation” nor “hell,” as we should be slow to insert those words here. The issue is not saved versus unsaved, but the quality of service rendered to God. Christ will be assessing our deeds done in the body, not our destiny. To be clear, Paul may be seeing this moment as his own personal vindication for the trials and suffering he has experienced while in the body during which the Corinthians have rejected his leadership for the antagonists who lured them away from Paul. The apostle looks on that particular day with hope that Jesus will say to him before the Corinthians and the antagonists, “I took great pleasure in the work you have done.”

The motivation is that God will be assessing our own goals of pleasing him, not our eternal destiny, as that is already settled. The question is, “Will God take great pride in our service, or will he expose us as nothing more than a fraudulent sham?

The “Not-So-Negative Motivation” leads us to purge our motives from all our false pretenses and agendas. We care for our patients and endure difficult environments, not because our job demands it. No. We work out of hope that one day we get to be with our Lord as he evaluates our service to him. I can see him saying, “I really enjoyed that time when you . . ..” So in the meantime, we make it our goal to please him.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* The list is comprised of themes found within Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians.

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The Final Word

They say that up to 90% of effective communication is created through non-verbal expressions. What you don’t say is as important as what you do say or how you say it. True or not, body language, verbal tone, mannerisms, and gestures play a huge role in conversing with one another. Anyone who has sent a text that created unintentional conflict understands “I was only joking,” or “It came off harsher than I intended.” Non-verbal expressions, especially tone, are important.

Once, a little old woman walked into the Post Office to get her mail. The Post Master handed her a letter from her son who was deployed. The woman was excited to receive the letter, except for one small detail; she was illiterate. She could not read. In her excitement, she asked a man who happened to be walking past her to read the letter to her. The man was in a hurry and uninterested in taking the time to read the letter, though he grudgingly complied. The woman’s anticipation melted into despair as the man read the letter in almost hateful tones. The woman snatched the letter out of the man’s hands and said, “That’s not my son! My son has never talked to me like that!”

As the woman made her way down the street she met another man. She asked him to read the letter from her son, to which the man eagerly and graciously agreed. He read the letter with joy and enthusiasm. The more he read, the more the woman relaxed and smiled. Even a tear gently crawled down her cheek. When he finished the letter, the woman said, “That’s exactly how my son speaks to me.”

How you say something is just as important as what you say.

Paul has come to the end of his letter with the Corinthians (2 Cor. 13:11-14). Usually, we overlook “Final Greetings” of the epistles, thinking they are throw-a-way statements without much substance. I do the same thing. “Say hi to George! Greet one another. I’m coming to visit. Jeremy says hi. And God be with you till we meet again.” Yea, pretty basic, simple stuff that does not deserve much study or sermon time. But then again, Paul has been through the ringer with the Corinthians. They’ve rejected his leadership and according to 2 Corinthians 2:1-2, he made a visit to them that ended badly. And I mean badly! Like they ran him out of town on a rail. Just a few verses earlier (13:1-4), he’s promising to make a visit and he expects certain behavioral changes. Too much is at stake for Paul to end 2 Corinthians on throw-a-way words. How he ends his letter to the Corinthians, including the tone he chooses, will be the last thing the Church hears. Honestly, what I believe Paul is doing in 2 Corinthians 13:11-14 is summarizing his message.

As we unpack Paul’s words we note that he calls them “brothers,” a term he has used twice before (1:8; 8:1). “Brothers” conveys family, warmth, affection and underlies his approach to them has been relational, as opposed to being transactional. Paul is not their enemy nor their boss, and he is more than just a friend or their pastor. He’s their brother who has invested in them and is hoping for real change in their lives.

At this point Paul pops off five imperative statements. These are quick reminders of themes he’s covered throughout the letter. The first one is “goodbye,” according to my translation, but it’s also the same word for “rejoice.” Since Paul has already displayed affection with the use of “brothers,” simply saying “goodbye” comes across as wooden. Rejoice has appeared numerous times throughout the letter (2:3; 6:10; 7:7, 9, 13, 16; 13:9) and each time is connected with either their positive response to Paul’s reconciling, or their ability to endure suffering. Being shaped, or in the case of the Corinthians shaped by the gospel, is cause for rejoicing. When we seek reconciliation instead of estrangement we’re being (re)fashioned by the gospel. When we provide comfort instead of cause suffering we’re being (re)forged by the gospel. When we are generous instead of selfish we are being (re)molded by the gospel. When we realize our brokenness instead of our perceived value we’re being (re)sculpted by the gospel. When we celebrate our weaknesses instead of our own strength we’re being (re)cut by the gospel. All of which is cause for joy.

Secondly, he calls for them to “aim for perfection.” Paul sets the bar of their faith high, but he doesn’t demand perfection. He wants them to shoot for perfection. True, we won’t reach the bar of perfection, but neither are we playing limbo with our faith: “how low can we go?” Or as some people ask, “What is the least amount I can do to be accepted by God?” The Corinthians, not to mention us, need some quality control over the kind of faith we profess to have. Some of their problems reach back to the divisiveness of their gatherings involving quarreling, slander, spiritual pride, and angry outburst, as well as their infatuation with idolatry.

Thirdly, he wants them to “listen to his appeals.” In preparing for his arrival, the church needs to show signs that they have implemented Paul’s teachings. Listening is a huge theme in Scripture from God telling the disciples to listen to Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, to James reminding us we have two ears and one mouth for a reason, and to John in Revelation calling forth those who have ears to hear to listen. Before action can take place, one must hear what is being taught.

Fourthly, he calls the church to unity. Once again, Corinth was a church noted for its divisive nature. The struggle for individual independence is at odds with the community peace. It’s easier to be your own person. It’s something entirely different to surrender yourself for the good of others. For 2 Corinthians the unity is rooted in Paul’s presentation of the gospel, a gospel that embraces suffering and weakness.

Finally, Paul calls them to live in peace, which is the result of reconciliation. When people come together, they are no longer at odds with each other. Peace is established. The result of a peaceful reconciliation is that God’s loving and peaceful presence will dwell among them.

With all the trouble Corinth had caused Paul, one might believe he’d given up on them. Or better yet, he’d unload on them. He doesn’t. He neither bails on them by jumping ship, nor does he fear monger them or threaten them. He certainly does not question their salvation, and nor does he bring the heat, though he acknowledges their struggle. In fact, since tone is everything to the apostle, he underscores his conclusion with hope, saying, “and the God of love and peace will be with you” (13:11b). It’s possible to move forward, to move forward together, and to move forward with God. It was Paul’s final word to the Corinthians and it was one filled with hope.

When I was a seminary student I took one class in counseling. It was hardly enough training to minister to a church, but I did learn one fact. The professor always encouraged us to underscore hope when counseling someone, especially couples. Everything may be falling apart – they may argue and fight, they don’t see eye-to-eye, or they barely speak. Always, he said, encourage them that they can work out their differences. They can salvage their relationship. Always leave them with hope. Always.

We do the same thing in hospice. We won’t lie and tell them they will get better. But we tell them how good of a job they are doing in caring for the loved one. We root them on when medication is on time and accurate. And when instruction is needed, we come back with, “I know it’s a lot, but I believe you can do this.” Always end with hope. It’s what Paul did for Corinth. It’s what we do for our patients. It’s how we roll as Christians. 

During the 1980’s the TV show Hill Street Blues brought one of the first realistic, gritty police dramas which tried to bring a more true-to-life depiction of life as cops. One of the beloved characters was Sargent Phil Esterhaus, played by Michael Conrad. Every episode usually began with Esterhaus calling roll, then going over the agenda for the day before sending his men and women out on the beat. He was the wise sage, who took his job seriously. Yes, he laughed and gave a knowing smirk, but he cared about the men and women under his command. Every day he knew they were being sent into the unknown danger. His signature line underscored his affection for them and his concern. His tone was a mixture of serious warning and parental loving concern. It was his final word, “You be careful out there.”

In the spirit of Esterhaus, I adopted a similar approach as I closed worship services at my church during COVID. With fears, anxieties, and frustrations wreaking havoc on people’s lives, church communities, and society in general people were being pushed to the edge. I ended services with a word of hope. I made direct eye contact with the church, even if it was through the camera, and regardless of the sermon topic or the struggles the church was facing. Each Sunday morning I said, “God’s got us, and he’ll get us through these days.”

I took this approach because my I wanted my final word to be hope. And maybe, just maybe somebody heard my words and tone and found the hope, thinking, “Yea, that’s exactly how Christ really speaks to us.” 

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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When God Says No

Months ago I prayed, asking, if not begging, God to intervene. I wasn’t the only one praying, you probably were too as it seemed everyone was “all hands on deck” in prayer. Our co-worker and friend, Amy, suffered a massive heart-attack and the moment she was taken to SOMC her outlook was without hope. But we prayed. When she was life-flighted to Columbus, we prayed. When she was taken into surgery, we prayed. When the doctors needed to perform more surgery, we prayed again. Though each step taken looked bleak, we prayed. We prayed until God came through to heal Amy from her wounds. We shouted on the mountains, “God cured Amy!” Since that day I haven’t stopped thanking God for his healing power. We believe in prayer, because we believe God listens to our prayer. We believe in prayer because we believe God acts on our prayers.

About the time we were praying for Amy, Cile and I were praying for a young man who, in a freak accident, suffered a concussion. He was on his skateboard engaging with neighborhood children and performing moves he’s made his entire life. Except this time he wiped out and hit his head. He hit his head hard. His brain swelled and was rushed to the hospital. We prayed for him because his wife needed her husband, and his small children needed their daddy. Since the accident Cile and I have prayed, but the man has not been healed. Not totally. We still believe in prayer, because we believe God listens to our prayers. We believe in prayer because we believe God acts on our prayers. But sometimes I wish, oh how I wish, God always answered my prayers like he answered the ones for Amy. 

Praying is hard. Praying is the temporary stepping into the eternal. Mind blowing, isn’t it? Finding the right words is a challenge in and of itself, but having the faith to believe the words spoken? Yea hard. Believing the spoken words actually reaches the throne room of God is a tall order, especially when it feels like God’s not listening, or when he does, he says, “No.” They say “Prayer is the key to heaven, but its faith that unlocks the door.” And there may be some truth to it, but let’s be honest, beyond all the clichés, prayer is hard.

If prayer is humanity engaging the Divine, then there is a sense of wonder to the moment, a wonder that needs to be left unexplored but simply experienced. For instance, I know God listens to our prayers. I know God acts from prayer. I do not know how or why God chooses to respond the way he does with specific prayers. Sometimes he says yes. Sometimes he says no. And sometimes, I’m just not sure what is going on either in heaven or on earth. And that is ok too, because we aren’t supposed to know all things. Nor should we trivialize life and God with trite answers. Instead, we sit in wonder of the One who does know all things and in whom we’ve placed our trust.

Paul found himself at the cross roads of prayer. The one prayer path he wanted to walk led him to healing. The other path led to God denying his request for healing. Here is where he found himself. Paul was asking, but God was denying. Three times Paul asked, petitioned, and begged God to heal him. But God said no, wrapping his denial in grace.

God said “no” to Paul,
                even though he was an apostle of Christ;
God said “no” to Paul,
                even though Paul felt like he was being sliced and diced.
God said “no” to Paul,
                as if the apostle was a normal person like you and me;
God said “no” to Paul,
                because God spread forth his grace, which was always free.
God said “no” to Paul,
                in hopes that the apostle would lean on God’s strength, and not his own;
God said “no” to Paul,
               for the apostle did not have the strength to face his role alone.
God said “no” to Paul,
                even though the apostle begged God to remove the thorn not once or twice, but
thrice;
God said “no” to Paul,
                just like God had to say “no” three times to his own Son, the Christ.
God said “no” to Paul,
                because sometimes God must set some boundaries,
                even when the apostle finds the answer profoundly unease.
 

What drove Paul to his knees was the aftermath of a vision and revelation. In fact, he uses the plural which leads us to believe the apostle experienced more than one vision and revelation (2 Cor. 12:1). The description of what he saw or heard was inexpressible. He had no words and admits that he cannot explain what exactly happened. Was it an inner body experience or did he step out of himself, he didn’t know. What he knew was that he was taken to heaven where he saw and heard things he never should have witnessed.

If the song says, “I can only imagine,” I’m here to tell you that whatever Paul experienced is beyond our ability to comprehend. There are no words. What is more, the encounter left Paul the walking wounded. As much as Paul does not reveal to us what he experienced in heaven, he also fails to explain his wounded-ness. We don’ know what Paul struggled with, but it’s safe to say the Corinthians did because they had known Paul face-to-face. What is very clear is the link between what Paul experienced to what he has had to endure. But maybe the best way to understand Paul is to step back and hear the entire argument.

Paul has been backed into a corner by a group who have self-promoted themselves and boasted about a slew of qualities. One of them may be their experience with visions and revelations. Paul does everything he can to avoid such an argument, but alas he chooses to step into the ring and go mono-emono with the antagonists.* Only he chooses to change the conditions of the debate.

First, he speaks in the third person. Speaking as if he knows someone who experienced the visions and revelations, Paul deflects some of the attention that is on him. His decision to boast in the third person leads him to pivot at 12:7 to begin speaking in the first person. So Paul knew a man “caught up into heaven,” but to keep himself humble Paul is given a “thorn in the flesh.” Thus, the man Paul knew who was caught up into heaven and then given the thorn in the flesh, was Paul himself.

Secondly, Paul is wounded from his experiences, to which he never does quite recover. To counter Paul’s remarkable experiences, God gave him a thorn to inflict enough discomfort in Paul to keep him grounded. God did not want Paul’s experience to go to his head and produce a prideful, haughty spirit. To keep him humble, God allowed a messenger from Satan to torment his apostle. Paul asked for healing, while God provided humility.

I can see Paul now going to God in prayer. I can hear his words form into arguments as to why this “thorn in the flesh” needs removed. It was like an anchor dragging him through the sand. He can do more. He can be more effective. He can get more accomplished. The “thorn” is holding him back from productivity and effectiveness. He can go farther and longer if only this “thorn” was removed. I feel like I understand Paul, as God has told me “no” so many times before.

For fifteen years I prayed that God would lift the black cloud of depression from me. The darkness was often heavy and took me to deep black holes where hope’s light never pieced. I prayed to God to redeem me, to rescue me, and to release me from my burden. God never answered me, while I did take comfort in the answer to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness” (12:9).

About the fifteenth year, with the “no’s” piled as high as the Empire State Building, I began to change my prayer request. Instead of removing my own thorn, I asked God to give me the strength to endure depression. I asked him for a power outside of myself to navigate through the darkness so that I may find the light. Slowly. Little by little. I kept praying and moving forward. While I’ve never completely exited the darkness, I’ve come a long way. God did say “no” to one prayer, but in doing so, he said “yes” to something else. That something else was his grace. A grace to keep moving forward despite the baggage I carried. And ultimately, isn’t God’s grace enough?

We believe in prayer, because we believe God listens to our prayers. We believe in prayer because we believe God acts on our prayers. We believe in prayer because we believe in God. We believe in prayer even when God says “no,” for the times he does say “no,” God always gives his grace. Always.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

*Technically, Paul does not take on the antagonists directly. Paul argues and debates with his church members, not the outside influencers who have led them astray.

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Too Close (Not) to Comfort

My love for Snoopy and the Peanuts Gang began on Christmas Eve 1968 when I received my plush Snoopy doll from my parents for Christmas. Since I was three years old at the time, no memory exists of the moment. I do have a picture taken by my dad of me of holding Snoopy with my mom looking on. I wasn’t a Snoopy fan before that moment, but since then Snoopy and I have had a nearly unbreakable bond. He’s brought plenty of comfort to the boy who has grown to be a man. Two of those moments come to mind.

Sometime around my eighth birthday I decided that I was too old for the plush doll to share my bed. A better place for him was on top of the wardrobe where he could watch over me and keep me safe. I felt like a big boy until the night I had a nightmare. Immediately, I got out of bed to climb up on a chair to retrieve my Snoopy so that he could comfort my fears through the rest of the night.

Then, when I was nine years old, I was admitted to the hospital with a prelude to a bleeding ulcer. I was very sick and spent three days at the children’s ward of Portland Adventist Hospital. Mom asked me what I wanted brought from home to make my stay easier. I told her I wanted my Snoopy, because I knew he would comfort me through the strange environment and separation anxiety. Unfortunately, I loved my Snoopy so much mom was embarrassed to bring the well-worn, formally white fat, soft, plush doll to the hospital. She bought me a knock-off Snoopy. I appreciated the effort, but he wasn’t Snoopy and I wasn’t nearly as comforted as I wanted.

Children are known for seeking comfort through a thumb, pacifier, a doll, or a blanket. They grow out of the need for the crutch, but usually find some replacement like foods, shopping, hobbies, or relationships. We never grow out of the need to be comforted.

As Paul opens his second letter to the Corinthians he bursts into worship saying, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” (v. 3). God is truly worthy of our praise, but the fireworks are only a small portion of Paul’s opening statement. God is praised, but like bacon wrapped around a hamburger, Paul wraps his praise with comfort. Nine times in five verses Paul drops the word comfort. Praising God, Paul acknowledges the role comfort plays in our lives. Such an unexpected pivot helps set the stage for what Paul will unpack throughout his letter to the Corinthians.

For the moment Paul makes two powerful statements about the role comfort plays, and that it’s rooted in God’s character.

First, God is praised because he comforts us. Paul says he is the “God of all comfort who comforts us in our troubles” (v. 3b-4). Suffering is a part of living. Troubles come with the world we live in and no one is immune to it. We are all the walking wounded, as grief torments every fiber of our lives; physically, spiritually, emotionally. We hurt. We cry. We ache. We do not need a God who inflicts pain on us, we are in need of a God who will comfort us.

In the midst of our suffering, we’re not alone. We’ve not been abandoned. We do not have a God who withdraws from our pain, but we have a compassionate God who steps into the very midst of our pain and suffering to offer comfort. According to Paul, God is not the source of suffering, but the source of our comfort. He brings healing, not sickness. He restores hope, not despair. He sits on the Mercy Seat, not the Vindictiveness Seat. He breathes life, not death. He’s looking to save, not to condemn. He acts out of compassion, not oppression. He creates comfort, not torture.

The popular Footprints poem has the speaker addressing God as they walk along the beach. Much of the walk the speaker notices the two sets of footprints, side by side, but also noted times of only one set. Those, he noticed, usually occurred when he was at very low points in his life. Inquiring of God, he sought insight and answers as to why God abandoned him, especially when he needed him the most. God’s answer reassured the man’s faith. No, God never left him nor forsook him. Only one footprint can be seen because that is when God carried the man.

God does not create the suffering, for the world has created enough pain and misery on its own. God brings comfort, as he sits with us in our suffering.

I once asked a Bible class a rhetorical question, “Who does God comfort?” No one gave me a wrong answer, they just failed to offer the best answer. Being in a church setting, they came up with answers like “fellow Christians,” or the “Church.” Their answers weren’t wrong, but they miss the point Paul is making in this passage. God does not discriminate when it comes to comforting, nor does he play favorites. He comforts people who need comforting. Anyone. Anywhere. Anyplace. If someone is suffering, God is comforting because that is who God is. We are wounded by the suffering and are in need of comfort. Thus, that is why God is praised.

Marla Hanson says we all have scars, it’s just that some can be seen and others are deeper than the skin’s surface. Experience speaks volumes and with clarity. In the mid-eighties Marla, a model and TV personality, was assaulted by two men who used razors to slice up her face. She needed a hundred stitches to mend her scars. Five months later, she was back to work with reports saying she was radiant and smiling. “Everyone has scars,” she said. “Mine show. Most people carry theirs inside themselves.”*

Scars left behind from betrayal, broken promises, death, terminal diagnoses, a bad job, false accusation tend to stock pile, and never quite heal. We carry the hurt with us until God brings his comfort. While God is not the source of suffering, he is the source for the comfort offered to us.

That is when Paul pivots saying that after God has comforted us, he does “. . . so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (v. 4). We are partners with God as we step into the ministry of comforting others. Like the children’s song says, “Love is something if we give it away,” and the kind of love we give away, in this context, is comfort. When we comfort others, that comfort acts like bread on the water and comes right back at us. God comforts us so that we can comfort others, which in turn is comforting to us.

In 1987 Lisa Najavits was a graduate student at Vanderbilt University pursuing a Ph.D. in clinical psychology. She decided to spend the summer in New York. Her dream summer quickly turned into a nightmare, when, on an early Tuesday morning in June a man with an abuse record had a fight with his wife. Frustrated and angry, fueled by a few beers, he went looking for trouble. He found Lisa and assaulted her, slashing her face with a razor to require a hundred stitches.  

God had nothing to do with this attack. It was not God’s will or some morbid plan of his to inflict such harm on this woman. There was no reason beyond that evil does weed itself through this world. No, God was not the source nor the motivation behind the pain or the attack. But God may have been behind the healing.

The next morning Marla Hanson, who was pursuing a film degree from New York University at the time, visited Lisa in the hospital. Doctors could repair the wounds, but only someone like Marla could help the healing process as she draws comfort out of her own wounded-ness.* While God did not cause the pain, for neither Marla nor Lisa, God used Marla’s experience to comfort someone who had endured great suffering.

We cannot escape suffering. In a fallen world suffering feels like its woven into its very tapestry. And maybe it is. But we can counter suffering through our comforting compassion. Whether we are nurses, aids, social workers, spiritual care, volunteer coordinators, or TC’s who answer phone calls. Our compassionate engagement and sympathetic understanding allows God to work through us to bring comfort. Not self-soothing comfort like a child gets from a Snoopy, or a blanket, or a pacifier, or a thumb, but this comfort comes from God. Once we experience his comfort, we can do nothing but give him praise.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* See Rubel Shelley, Bound for the Promised Land: Walking in the Faith Footsteps of Father Abraham. Nashville: 20th Century Christian, 1988.

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I Love A Parade!

The Macy’s Parade maybe the most celebrated parade in America. Inaugurated on Thanksgiving Day in 1924, during the heart of The Great Depression, employees of the Chain marched to the store on 34th Street dressed in costumes of bright colors. The success of the day’s events led to expanding the parade to balloons, bands, floats, TV coverage, and of course Santa Claus. Millions of spectators line the streets each year, while the rest of us tune into the coverage for the unofficial launch of the Christmas season. The Macy’s Parade may be the most popular parade, not only because of its timing, but also because of the miracle movie associated with it.

My own experience with parades is fairly limited. I have one childhood memory of my family attending a parade. We packed a lunch and lawn chairs and helped line the street with all the other attendees. I have no recollection of the location of the parade, but I do remember dad putting me on his shoulders so I could have bird’s eye view. As an adult I’ve participated in numerous parades. I’ve marched with the Cub Scouts in the Veteran’s Parade, tossed candy from a float sponsored by our church in a Christmas Parade, and watched my son march in his high school band around the town square. Yes, he played the trombone. No, he was the only trombone player marching and he did not lead the parade.

Everyone loves a parade. From those at Thanksgiving, to the ones at Christmas, to those that usher in the New Year, and to the Windy City’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade with the Chicago River dyed bright emerald green. We march in Veterans and Memorial Day Parades to honor our servicemen, and stand in awe of the formation in the military parade. When our favorite sports team wins the championship we line the streets in ticket-tape fashion. In my hometown of Portland, Oregon the Starlight Parade opens the Rose Festival while Cincinnati kicks off the baseball season with its own parade. To say we love a parade maybe an understatement.

Rome loved parades as well, though they called them a Triumphal Procession. When the battle was over and the war was won the victors and the victims were paraded through the streets of Rome. The procession was led by trumpeters to announce their arrival. The defeated citizens, particularly the nobility, royalty, and military, were marched through the streets wearing their native clothing much like our modern day Olympian Parade of Champions. Unlike our Olympians, instead of the cheers, these people were booed and mocked, humiliated, shamed, and ridiculed by crowds lining the paths. Who’s to say they weren’t pelted with tomatoes or even rocks? Looted treasures where carried through the streets, celebrated and hoisted as a trophy. At the end of the procession was the conquering general driving a chariot. Dressed to look like the god Jupiter, the general adorned a purple and gold toga, a scepter crowned by an eagle, and wearing a red leaded mask. The climax of the procession was at the temple of Jupiter where the captives were forced to reenact the decisive battle and then executed before the crowds, dignitaries, and gods. Rome loved their parades, but I’m not sure if we could stomach them.

Having unified the Gallic tribes (over simplification: modern day France), Vercingetorix declared war against Julius Caesar’s Rome. His initial battle successfully pushed back Rome incurring several thousand deaths. The victory was short-lived as the Romans retaliated through besieging the Gallic armies and squeezing every bit of their supplies dry. Rome had time and resources on their side. In order to save his people Vercingetorix surrendered to Rome, hoping to stay off execution. But alas, he and his men were paraded through the streets of Rome before being executed by garroting, the art of killing someone by means of wire or cord, likely something akin to barbed wire. Rome savored the parade-like procession moment.

Picking up on this parade imagery, this Triumphal Procession, Paul bursts into praise: “But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him” (2 Cor. 2:14). Paul seems to love a parade. Even more so, Paul loves the image of the triumphal procession where the victors lead the victims in a parade. Note the present tense of his praise, “God always leads us” means it is currently happening now. So, the image is clear enough. We, the followers of Christ are being led in a triumphal parade following a great battle. What’s not as clear is what the image of the triumphal procession actually means.

One popular interpretation is that Paul sees himself as the victorious general with or leading the defeated procession to Jesus (C.K. Barret, 98). Such a picture places the apostle on the victors stand as he, not to mention the church, own and humiliated the enemies of Christ. With this interpretation the church stands in the driver’s seat of culture to dictate, mandate, and even control the direction society goes. We are the victors and to us goes the spoils.

If I were honest, I feel a little uneasy with such an interpretation. If that is what Paul is saying it seems like the church can run the risk of an entitlement mentality, demanding its rights, and forcing its will on people and the society. In other words, the hunted easily becomes the hunter, so that anyone out of line of church norms is dealt with severely. I’m not sure that is what Paul has in mind especially given the rest of 2 Corinthians where Paul seems to argue the opposite.

Thus, the second view finds Paul, the apostles, and the church not as victors in the parade, but victims. Paul sees himself as part of the ones who are defeated, dishonored, degraded, and defamed. In this scene Paul, through Jesus Christ, has been conquered as he marches along the walk of shame. Paul has no rights or honor since he has surrendered his will. Thus, when Paul speaks in the next verse of the “aroma of Christ” and the “smell of death” (v. 15), he is doubling down on the image to speak of himself as sacrificed to God. Some saw the faithful sacrificing their lives to God as a stench, while God smelled a fragrant aroma. For, like Jesus giving up his life so that we might live, we sacrifice our lives so that others might live as well.

Very little, if any good, came from the Nazi concentration camps in World War II. Even less chance from the hell-hole called Auschwitz. But there was a prisoner, a Franciscan Priest, who had been hiding and helping the Jews and was imprisoned for committing such “horrible crimes.” His name was Maximilian Kolbe. He spent his prison days ministering to the other inmates. He offered his bread when they were hungry. He gave up his blanket when they were cold. He spoke kind and hopeful words when they were despondent. He was the aroma of Christ consumed with the smell of death. Mind you, he wasn’t going to make it out alive, was he? The only question was, how was he going to die?

In July 1941 a prisoner escaped the camp. The Commandant decided to punish those still in the camp by executing ten prisoners for the one who had escaped. As the Commandant read a random list of people he came to Sergeant Francis Gajowniczek, a Polish Jew, who cried out, “Have mercy! I have a wife and family!” Maximilian Kolbe stepped forward and requested to exchange places with Gajowniczek. For whatever reason, the Commandant allowed the trade. He and others were led to a room where they were denied food for a month before Kolb died by lethal injection. He died physically that day because spiritually he had already died by emptying himself. He was able to give his life because he had already died for Christ. His death was certainly a pleasing aroma to God, not because he died, but because of the means he met his death.

What Paul says about this Triumphal Procession runs counter to our intuitive thinking. We have control issues and we believe that being taken prisoner is a sign of weakness. We tell ourselves to pray harder, or to attend church more often, or to give more money, or take on more patients, or just be good. Even worse, we tremble at the thought of being dragged through the streets just like Paul in the Triumphal Procession. Instead, having surrendered to Jesus we find peace to throw ourselves deeper into serving, loving, and even forgiving. Because when we gave our lives to Jesus we already sacrificed away our lives anyway.

So the next time you watch a parade remember Paul’s Triumphal Procession. Look to the rear and if you see the climax of the parade or Santa Claus, remember that’s not you. We are not the victor, but the victim. You’re part of the procession being led even if it means death. Yea, it does have the smell of death, but then again it’s also an aroma of the fragrance of life.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)