Category: 2 Corinthians

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A Vision Where the Content of Character Counts

On a hot and muggy summer day in 1963 some 250,000 people gathered on the Mall in DC for the March on Washington to bring awareness to the civil and economic rights for people of color. America was in the throes of the Civil Rights Era, and the movement would reach a climax at this gathering. Ten keynote speakers, largely forgotten overtime, addressed the crowd prepping them for the final speaker who delivered the concluding keynote of the day: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. And deliver, he did.

Historians rank King’s I Have a Dream speech as one of the greatest orations ever delivered. He waxed, but never wanned, as his words echoed through the crowds and throughout history. The imagery and rhetorical savvy was unprecedented. King walked a thin line by honoring the Founding Fathers, the Declaration of Independence, and the US Constitution, while calling out the oppressive and abusive actions of America for over a hundred years. All along sowing seeds of hope.

Five times King declared that he had a dream, followed by a descriptive verse envisioning a time beyond the racism in America. The most quoted dream statement is likely the one involving King’s own children, believing that one day they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

Character. Who the person is on the inside matters. The admirable qualities driving a person’s decisions carry far more weight than their job, position of power, or wealth. Truth. Faithfulness. Courage. Perseverance. Humility. Kindness. Discipline. Respect. These, and other qualities, are the virtuous lenses that Martin Luther King, Jr. was hoping society might view one another. Hoping, by the way, is a virtuous quality in and of itself.

By the end of the 1980’s the general sentiment was that the moral and ethical behavior in students was not only declining but freefalling. Believing public schools had abandoned their post of teaching the importance and virtues of character, the Josephson Institution formed the Six Pillars of the Character Counts program.

The first Pillar was Trustworthiness: being honest without deceiving others, while having integrity and keeping promises. The second Pillar was Respect: following the golden rule and accepting difference of others, while being considerate of people’s feelings. The next Pillar was Responsibility: doing your best, being self-disciplined, and learning perseverance. The Fourth Pillar is Fairness: playing by the rules without taking advantage of others. Another Pillar was Caring: being kind and compassionate. The final Pillar was Citizenship: making your school and community a better place. This curriculum was taught in many schools exposing children to the importance of its premise: character really does count.

In 1989 Steven Covey wrote a run-away best-selling book entitled, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. Seeing a trend that has metastasized today, he warned about the dangerous tendency of embracing personality ethic over character ethic. Noting, prior to World War II, most American leaders were chosen because they held certain qualities in their character. No, they weren’t perfect, but their lives held a balance by their pursuit of a high level of moral and ethical qualities. Since World War II the trend has been to choose leaders owning a personality ethic. Simply put, someone with a personality ethic holds charisma that draws people and crowds to them. They look good and sound good on stage, but they very well may be morally and ethically bankrupt. Covey raises the concern of what happens when businesses, schools, churches, and the government are led and fueled by people who are charismatic without character. For him, character doesn’t just count, it matters.

Paul may have foreshadowed the tension when he wrote 2 Corinthians. Charismatic leaders infiltrated the church in Corinth, and instead of serving the church they looked for ways to control, manipulate, dominate, and selfishly squeeze the church for everything it’s got. Like the smell of a new car, they looked good. Once you looked under the hood, they weren’t that new but refurbished as their inner corroded lives were exposed for all to see.

Oh, their stories of unlimited accomplishments were told at great lengths. Their preaching drew a crowd. They healed the sick. Visions and revelations were the norm. They boasted of God’s power working through them, while noting Paul’s stage presence was lacking. Paul was weak and soft.

Paul wasn’t, at least according to their standard. He healed people, even bringing someone back from the dead (Act. 20:10). Jesus spoke to him on more than one occasion, too (Act 9:4-5; 18:9-10; 23:11). More importantly, Paul experienced at least one vision, a powerful vision, where he saw and heard things he could not express or explain (2 Cor. 12:3-4). As overwhelming his experience was, he gives us very little detail, leaving much to the imagination. He does not even fully understand what happened. He does so for very good reasons.

First, he blunts his experience by speaking in the third person (12:2-4). He says, “I know a man who was caught up to the third heaven” (v. 2). Using third person language, Paul deflects attention off himself, even when needing to share his experience. With his own credibility on the line, Paul, talking about someone else’s vision, makes no sense for the argument before him. He’s willing to share what happened to him, but, unlike his distractors, Paul is not the center of his own universe.

Secondly, Paul tells us that this experience occurred fourteen years earlier (12:2). Those in the know tell us that this vision occurred sometime between his conversion in Acts 9 and his first mission trip in Acts 13. Two conclusions can be drawn by this date. For one, if Paul had to reach back fourteen years to recount this story, then this experience was the anomaly, not the norm. And another, this very well may be the first time the Corinthians heard about his experience, which means he’s not going around trumpeting his encounter. They are, but he’s not.

Thirdly, Paul is the walking wounded (12:7). Because he experienced such a vision, a thorn in the flesh was given to keep him humble. Whatever the thorn was, and we are not told, the need for it was a reminder for Paul to trust God’s grace and not his own strength. With a knowing wink, Paul may be saying, “If I’ve had such an experience which caused me to limp away, why is their gate fine?”

All of this leads to Paul’s statement that if he spoke about his visions, he would be telling the truth. He is only talking about events in his own life. But he won’t, because, in his own words, “But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say” (v. 6b). Paul will not allow people to put him up on a pedestal because God revealed something to him. Such a trait is called, “humility,” which reaches to his own core characteristic. Contrast Paul’s words to his antagonists spewing arrogant pride, constantly boasting of their experiences. For Paul, character counts, and without character what you say or do is like offering God a beautifully wrapped present. Yet, once unwrapped and opened, nothing is in it.

We live in an era where we are easily drawn to the power and prestige of celebrity leaders. We’re captivated and captured by their charisma even when such leaders are devoid of character. We’ve convinced ourselves that good things will happen by following the person whose words speak to our hearts instead of to our souls. We expect the world to push back on the virtues underscored in Scripture, and sometimes they do. But when we listen to our own Christian voices mocking the Fruit of the Spirit qualities as wimps, or ridiculing the Beatitudes’ virtues as being soft, or deriding the “turn the other cheek” as weak, then we are listening to the wrong voices. We’re being shaped by lyrics, languages, and lives foreign to the gospel Jesus brought and Paul preached. The truth is the saint(s) who have charmed and enchanted us are really venomous snake(s) ready to bite only to satisfy his/her own narcissistic needs.

The truth is our society is flooded with leaders with little to no character fiber in their bones. At best, they’ve sold-out for fame, for control, or for the path of least resistance. At worst, they’ve abused and profited from the people they are called to love and to lead, while demanding fealty. And you don’t have to look very far to see the fallout in churches, businesses, schools, social organizations, and our own government.

In a recent article by Christianity Today editor, Russell Moore, he may have summed it up best when he said,

If we are hated for attempted Christlikeness, let’s count it all joy. But if we are hated for our cruelty, our sexual hypocrisy, our quarrelsomeness, our hatefulness, and our vulgarity, then maybe we should ask what happened to our witness . . . Character matters. It is not the only thing that matters. But without character, nothing matters.*

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

* Russell Moore, “Why Character Doesn’t Matter Anymore,” Christianity Today, March 22, 2024 (an online article).

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Like the Encroachment of Kudzu

The 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition was a six-month celebration of the hundredth birthday of the United States. Holding a World’s Fair-like presentation, the Exposition showcased the industrial achievements of America. Nearly ten million visitors were exposed, not only to world-cultures through the eyes of America, but more so to its stories of might and ingenuity. The celebration was nothing less than a success.

During the Exposition, the native Japanese and southeast Chinese plant, Kudzu, was introduced to the West. Touted as a beautiful ornamental plant with its sweet blooms and sturdy vines, the plant became a hot commodity. During the Dust Bowl era, vines were planted throughout the south to prevent soil erosion. Its fast-growing vine, up to a foot a day, took hold of the soil to prevent the dirt from blowing and/or washing away. But its “mile-a-minute” growth rate quickly became known as “the vine that ate the South.” Like most vines, this one began choking out every plant and tree for its domination, destroying all life in its path. While cows will eat Kudzu, no western insect eats the plant. The vine was brought to America without a natural predator to regulate it. Quickly, it got out of control.

With no means to contain the plant, the vine encroached on foreign territory, choking the life out of plants and trees, leaving death in its wake.

As Paul was surveying the church in Corinth, he might have seen the Kudzu in the form of the antagonistic group who came to the church to turn them against the apostle. They had encroached onto the church promising life while choking the heartbeat out of the people. Paul accused them of being self-promoting since they went around “commending themselves” for everything they did (2 Cor. 10:12a). Not only were they bragging about themselves, and ensuring everyone knew their great deeds, but they themselves were the standard by which they measured themselves (v. 12b). Once we become the standard, then no one measures up to our expectations. They don’t serve as much as me. Their listening audience is smaller than mine. Their sin is worse than mine. I’m more dedicated than they are. Like ignoring the speed limit on a highway: anyone traveling faster than me is crazy, while anyone driving slower than me is a nuisance. A standardized measurement no longer exists, leading to a “law of the jungle” mentality. Such is the case when people decide to brag about their faith or ministry while measuring themselves against each other.  

Paul, on the other hand, is willing to boast, but not like his opponents. Paul boasts only within the limits God has provided (v. 13), limits that include the Corinthians. Having invested heavily in the church at Corinth, Paul seeks their best, even at the expense of himself. He brought them the gospel and began nurturing their faith. He lived with them. He worked with them. He spent time with them. He wants desperately to see their faith grow and develop (v. 15), in part so that they can help Paul expand his ministry to other places. Paul wants to brag about the Corinthians, not about himself.

Here is one of the differences between Paul and the antagonists. Paul will not take credit for work completed by others. Oh, they will (v. 15). By encroaching on the territory Paul already established, they will come in and claim it as their own. Like classmates taking credit for an assignment written by someone else, or a coworker pitching a stolen idea to his/her boss, these antagonists were trying to take credit for the work Paul did at Corinth. And we know the endgame: such leaders do not want challenged or questioned and eventually pull away from the very people they are called to shepherd.

Some might think they are jealous of the apostle, though Paul was not jealous of them. He’s willing to share. As he himself once said, he plants, Apollos waters, while God gives the increase (1 Cor. 3:6). They, though, are willing to exercise a hostile takeover of Corinth to fulfill their own passions. Paul will not play such games. He will not take credit for ministries completed by other people and in regions he has not tread (2 Cor. 10:16b). Instead, all boasting will be done in the Lord (v. 17).

Very few of us can say we are staking out new territory. Most of us are building off people who have come before us. As the Deuteronomy author said, “We drink from wells we did not dig” (Dt. 6:11).

When I moved to Minford to preach, I followed a pastor who spent twenty-two years preaching and ministering for this church. Sure, I have my own style and personality and will naturally leave my imprint on the people as my legacy. That said, while I was their preacher, I did what I could to honor and respect his family and ministry, valuing what he had built and knowing his ministry was built on the ones that came before him.

When I arrived at Heartland almost three years ago, I joined a team who was already doing good ministry. Yes, I have my own style and personality which will naturally leave its own imprint on the company, but I, like you, have tried building from what others have constructed without taking credit, and certainly without tearing it down.

We do this because we’re not kudzu encroaching on someone else’s territory.

As Paul is writing these words to Corinth, he has his Bible open to Jeremiah 9:23-24. In that section the prophet is taking the people of Jerusalem to task over what else? Boasting. Jeremiah declares that the wiseman should not boast about his wisdom, or that the strong man boast about his strength, or that the rich man boast about his wealth (Jer. 9:23). Jeremiah takes on the arrogant people who beat their chest and set themselves up as powerful individuals who control or manipulate the masses. Not only are people drawn to such definitions of success, but those in power tend to flaunt what they have. They let you know they are the smartest, strongest, and substantially loaded person in the room. And they care less for the people and more about themselves. For the record, I also know people who excel in each of those categories but are too humble to intimidate or brag. And isn’t that the difference? It’s not having wisdom, strength, or wealth, but how you perceive to use it is the difference.

Jeremiah’s solution does not include stopping the boasting, but to redirect the bragging toward the Lord (9:24). In this form of boasting, Jeremiah gives three descriptive words worthy of boasting regarding God. First, speak about him exercising kindness. Kindness, here, is far more than God performing random acts of kindness as we know it. We think of kindness as maybe holding a door for someone, or helping clean up a mess, or volunteering to help sit with a patient. Kindness here, can also be translated, “loving kindness” or “steadfast love.” Such kind love is the word to describe God’s loyalty to the Covenant he made with Israel. Where Israel broke the terms of the Covenant – from the golden calf to the rebellion in the desert to corruption in Jerusalem at the time of Jeremiah – God never broke his Covenant with Israel. He kept his word. He preserved his promises. He refused to be guilty of breaking his Covenant. That is something worth bragging about.

The second and third descriptive words are found together in the Old Testament like they were best friends. You rarely find them separated from each other. In the New Testament these two concepts are rooted in the same word: justice and righteousness. Sometimes context can help distinguish which one the author is intended. Both terms are relational in nature and rooted in the character of God. Biblical justice is about treating people fairly, regardless of wealth, power, status, or wisdom. One of the reasons God has a heart for the marginalized and the poor is because society will not act with justice. He will, and his desire is for us to as well. The third descriptive word is righteousness, which means a person stands in a right relationship to God who he himself is described as righteous. Sometimes righteousness has a moral and ethical element to it. Other times it has religious piety attached to it. Still other times, it is linked to how people treat the poor and marginalized. Someone like Mother Teresa was a righteous woman, if for no other reasons, she chose to remain in poverty with the people of Calcutta instead of a lucrative position somewhere else. Bragging about a God who treats people the same regardless of stature, wealth, strength, and wisdom is something worth bragging about.

Jeremiah’s point, which Paul picks up, is that if someone is going to boast, then they need to boast about God. And if one is boasting about him/herself, it is likely that they do not know God. They are boasting about what they know. Themselves.

Back to Paul in 2 Corinthians 10, he quotes a portion of Jeremiah 9:24 to drive home this important point. If they are bragging about themselves while taking credit for Paul’s ministry and participating in a hostile takeover of Paul’s God-given territory, then one thing is clear. They don’t know God. Oh, they smell like a pleasing fragrant flower and their blossoms are beautiful to admire. But they are nothing more than a pesky vine that will quickly encroach on the land and choke out everything that lives, leaving spiritual death in its wake.

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

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Measuring the Depth of Love

Exiting his study off the sanctuary, Reverend Paul Ford mounted the pulpit. Perched high above his congregation, he looked down on them like a vulture eyeing his prey or like a judge about to pronounce sentence on the guilty. His deep, baritone voice boomed and echoed throughout the church like thunder. Lacking compassion, fear reverberated throughout the congregants; even the chandelier shook when he spoke. Seeing the worst in his members, all he seemed to encounter was jealousy, scandals, and backbiting. Unleashing the wrath of God, as he tapped into their greatest fears, he led the church to the edge of hell’s fires declaring, “Death comes unexpectantly!”

“And now he will deal with you. Now the great King of Heaven and Earth will abolish and annihilate this pride! Will crush the hardened wretch of the polluted infinite abomination, and rain on him a deluge of fire and brimstone! And where is their strength, then? Where are the great leviathans who defied God, then? Where is their courage, these proud spirits? Yes . . . Death comes unexpectedly.“*

The irony is clear enough. Reverend Ford preached about arrogant pride never realizing that he himself was struggling with the very same sin. For the Reverend the condescending barriers kept him from his church. He believed that since he only had his people in church for one day, he had to inoculate them against the other six days of exposure to sin. His inoculation, instead of offering himself to them, was to bring the fires of hell closer to them. He preached without tears because his heart was far from the people he ministered to, evident that while the church was worshiping, the Reverend secluded himself to his study. In his haughtiness he looked down on them, not just physically, but spiritually as well. Ultimately, his harsh words, instead of broken tears, reflected the depth of love – or lack thereof – he had for the church.  

Around 1980 a ten-year-old-boy claimed his fifteen minutes of fame by embracing the street preacher persona at school. He dressed in a suit, held a big black Bible, and quoted Scriptures at the top of his lungs. Talk show hosts like Oprah, Larry King, and Salley Jesse Rafael lured him and his parents onto their program and sold tickets to the audience like he was a freak show for their carnival. Raised in North Carolina, and fearful of the public school’s influence on racial integration, evolution, and sex education, the boy began standing outside his school and shouting Scriptures he had memorized to his fellow students. Without offering either exposition or hope, he quoted Scriptures underscoring condemnation and hell’s fires.

Multiple problems arose from this situation. Not only parents allowing their son to be exposed to such national scrutiny, but also adults finding a warped venue of entertainment to generate an audience to fuel the greed for television ratings. More so is the caricature of the preacher who pronounces condemning judgment on his people without first identifying with them or showing any signs of compassion. In short, he shed no tears over the sins of the people he was preaching to.

Jonah was a great prophet, but he was no role model for preachers. He was called to preach to his nation’s enemies, but his national loyalties were stronger than his obedience to God. He ran away, until he could run no farther. God re-sent him to Nineveh. When he finally showed up, he gave a powerfully simple sermon, “You have forty days to repent!” (Jon. 3:4). A short, effective sermon preached over and over that omitted hope mixed with the grace and mercy of God. Still, repent the people of Nineveh did. And when God relented by showing compassion, grace, and mercy, Jonah fumed. He wanted them to burn. He envisioned how it would end. He hoped their nation would fall at the hand of God. He planned their punishment with courtside seats for the event. Jonah lacked tearful compassion, and as God pointed out to him, Jonah cared more about his own selfish needs than he did for the people he was trying to save.  

George Younce was the bass singer and frontman for Southern Gospel’s premier group, The Cathedral Quartet. With a sense of humor and comedic timing, George put the audience at ease. He and the other members of the group created a relaxed atmosphere so that their beautiful singing and harmonies might disable any resistance to the Gospel message communicated to the audience during the concert.  Laughter was at the heart of George, but so were the tears he shed as he confessed, “When the eyes leak, the head won’t swell.”

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Paul wrote a letter between what we know of as 1 & 2 Corinthians. While we do not know the contents of the letter – that letter is lost – we know it addressed the incident which he calls a “painful visit” (2 Cor. 2:1). At that visit he was rejected by the church, and essentially “run out of town.” In Paul’s letter he had to address the situation as it was getting out of hand. The antagonists were amid a hostile take-over of the church, and Paul was on the outs. He wrote them, and he spoke openly, honestly, and harshly to them causing them to grieve (2:2). Unlike others, Paul took no pleasure in writing such a letter. Even more, the words of the letter were expressed through great distress and many tears (v. 4). Paul wept while writing them. Where Paul wanted to brag and find confidence in the church (v. 3), they forced him to take the trail of tears, and as he walked that trail, grief accompanied his journey until he finally heard from Titus. Finally (7:7). Only then did he know that the deep love he had for them was finally reciprocated, showing that love is best expressed through tears, not harsh words.  

Until the mid-1990’s I always pictured Jesus as bringing the hammer to the Pharisees when he delivered the seven woes (Mt. 23). Occurring during the final week of his life, after Jesus was grilled by his adversaries but before his prediction of Jerusalem’s fall, it seemed like a perfect time for Jesus to unload on the Pharisees with both guns blazing. He let them have it, while I always pictured myself standing behind Jesus and not in front of him. I viewed myself as teammates with Jesus and I was always on his side. Always. But in the 1990’s Bruce Marchiano played Jesus in the Visual Bible on Matthew. Bruce brought an emotive side of Jesus as one who smiled and laughed with the people. Watching his portrayal of Jesus made one believe that God really did love humanity, and even found joy in being human. So when Bruce reached the seven woes in Matthew 23, he portrayed Jesus not as one who had a hammer to break the Pharisees, but as a Savior who was broken by pronouncing the woes. As his Jesus begins the first woe, his voice began to crack and its crescendo is felt through the last three woes when he proclaimed them through broken tears. The dams broke and broke hard. Such an interpretation makes sense as Jesus concludes the seven woes with his lament,

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who killed the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing” (Mt. 23:37).

The first time I watched this scene my pride was broken. I no longer saw myself standing behind Jesus, but in front of him as if the tearful broken heart of Jesus was directed at me.

Out in a field, Reverend Paul Ford was rehearsing his Sunday sermon. Little Pollyanna delivered a message to him from her aunt. Reverend Ford was too busy to be disturbed by this little girl, but Pollyanna was too naïve to realize who she was up against. Wanting to dismiss her, she lured him into a conversation by asking if he was glad that he was a preacher. Glad. Her father was a minister who felt like his congregation tuned him out. Not surprisingly, Ford felt the same way. Coming closer to her, he asked if her father ever solved the dilemma. He did, she replied, when he read a quote from Abraham Lincoln which said, “When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will.” Intrigued, Ford had taken the bait and Pollyanna reeled him in by bringing attention to the 800 glad passages in the Bible like “Rejoice and be glad,” or “Shout for joy,” or “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” She snatched his heart when she innocently said, quoting her father, “If God took all the time to tell us 800 times to rejoice and be glad, then he must have wanted us to do it.” Pollyanna left the Reverend holding the words in his heart.

The next Sunday as Reverend Ford mounted the pulpit, he chose not to be the voice of God, but he found his own voice in confessional tones. His pride was broken. Convicted, he decided to spend more time on the 800 glad passages and to share those passages in his sermons. His deepest regret was his failure to sit and to spend his time with the church as a fellow struggler against sin, for the true way to inoculate people against sin is to walk and sit with them.

What Reverend Ford finally realized was the depth of love is never measured in the harsh words we speak, but in the broken tears we shed for one another.

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

* Pollyanna is a 1960 movie by Disney, with Haley Mills as Pollyanna and Karl Malden as the Reverend Paul Ford. This script was lifted from www.insearchofthesinglechristian.blogspot.com from 2011. Accessed 2-19-24.  

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Unveiled Hope

No moment showing such promise and potential turned so quickly leaving nothing but despair and despondency in its wake, then the golden calf story recorded in Exodus 32. Israel had gathered at the Mountain of God. They had been slaves in Egypt, now they were liberated, freed, and headed to the Promised Land. Oh, the sound of freedom is music to the ear. Like a cookout on Memorial Day with summer just around the corner, what could go wrong? In a word, everything.

Moses was engaged in deep negotiations with God, while Israel was encamped at the base of Mt. Sinai. With the Covenant established and the Testimony* engraved by God’s finger on two tablets of stone held by Moses, the prophet began his trek down the mountain. But something was wrong. Something was really wrong. The sound of freedom morphed into the cries of war. Except it wasn’t war, just the shattering of the very covenant God founded with his people. On the ground were the pieces of the tablets, fragmented, a poignant representation of what Israel did, not only to the Testimony,* but also to the Covenant established by God.

All was lost. Like mist burned off from the hot sun, hope had dissipated. Wanting to wipe out the entire nation, God was willing to start over, only this time with Moses (Ex. 32:9-10). Moses, on the other hand, pleaded with God for mercy. God relented as mercy prevailed. But things had changed. Trust was broken. And in the balance was a damaged relationship between God and Israel.

Something else happened too. Moses changed. Physically. His encounter with God made his face glow (Ex. 34:29-35). The radiance was bright and frightened the people who saw him. Each time he met with God, his face radiated like the sun on a bright blue cloudless day. After communicating with Israel what God revealed to him, he wore a veil, which he removed before meeting with God again (Ex. 34:33-35).

Paul picks up Moses’ veil image in 2 Corinthians 3:12-18 to restore the hope lost so many centuries earlier. Unfortunately, before hope is restored, Paul says the veil is still in play, blinding the hearts of those who wear it (v. 14-15). Two points of interest are worth highlighting before we pursue further. First, whatever Paul says in these verses, he is confronting the antagonists infiltrating Corinth to undermine his ministry. We know they are Judaizers, but they are not the same ones or kind that demanded the Galatians be circumcised. Circumcision is not mentioned in 2 Corinthians, but a love for the Covenant at Sinai seems important to the antagonists. Secondly, Paul may either be relying on a tradition or taking liberties with the Exodus 34 veil story. Exodus says nothing about the reason Moses wore the veil, only that he did (Ex. 34:33,35). He met with the Lord unveiled, then spoke to Israel unveiled. After speaking with Israel, he donned the veil until he met with the Lord again, and the cycle repeated itself. Paul, on the other hand, says the reason Moses donned the veil was to hide the fact that his radiant face was fading (v. 13), a foreshadow of the Sinai Covenant reality with Israel.

Paul tells us that the glory of the Sinai Covenant, or in this case ministry, is fading and fading fast. Moses donned a veil to hide how that glory is diminishing. In the meantime, Israel themselves wore their own veil blinding them from seeing the real glory. The more they wore the veil, the duller their minds became (v. 14). They stopped thinking. They quit processing. They ceased hoping. They discontinued dreaming. They were so blinded by their own theology and understanding of Scripture that they failed to see Christ holding it all together. While it’s true that “. . . when Moses is read, a veil covers their hearts” (v. 15), Paul is not only addressing Jews who reject Jesus, but he’s also addressing the antagonistic Jewish Christians bent against him and his gospel. They are either veiled to the Jesus they claim to follow, or they are veiled to conceal that Jesus is not in them. Remember, Paul is addressing this letter to people who are already Christians, who have given their lives to Christ. So, something is ironically wrong when Christians cannot see Christ because their own hearts are veiled.

I come from a tribe of believers who, probably like you, wear their own blinders preventing them from seeing or showing Jesus. We hold a high view of Scripture with clearly marked doctrinal lines. While I hold much of our doctrines close to the heart, I do so knowing the questionable approach we’ve taken Scripture to reach those doctrinal beliefs. Sometimes, those questionable approaches and conclusions have hurt the very people we are called to love and to serve. Those who have not walked the line have either been black-balled or given enough cold shoulders to show how much they are no longer welcomed. Others, who dared to remove the box holding God, found their character maligned and were shamed for “coloring” outside the doctrinal lines.

I share this because my tribe is just like your tribe, and my people are just like your people, and my story is probably your story, too. On our best days the blinders are removed and it’s like seeing Jesus in HD. On our worst days, our blinders keep us from seeing anything, trampling on the people we’re called to love the most. Or the veil is in play to hide the fact that we care nothing for Jesus only for ourselves.

So we fight every day to shed the blinders and remove the veil keeping us from being the very Jesus we proclaim to being. We have our theology lined out and our doctrine clean and simple. We tend to keep everything neat and clean to avoid messy conclusions, reading the Bible only to confirm what we already believe, forgetting that the very Bible we cherish is written by messy people engaging with messy people who are radically loved by a very un-messy God. We prefer clearly drawn lines of right and wrong, of left and right, of true and false, as it helps us know who is in and who is out, so that we know who is going to heaven and who isn’t. But when we do that, we have a veil over our hearts and we’re living with blinders on. Truth be known, if we were to remove our blinders, we’d see that we and our churches are far messier than we care to admit.

Along the way we’ve failed remove the veil to reveal that the transformation of unveiled faces is the goal of the gospel (v. 18). We’ve failed to remove the veil and to take a good long look in the mirror, while standing in finger-pointing judgment at those whose sin seems greater than ours. We’ve failed to remove the veil that distinguishes our culture of acceptability against the culture of being accepted by Jesus. We’ve failed to remove the veil to discern between our national politics and the politics of God’s Kingdom, assuming that they are one and the same. They’re not. We’ve failed to remove the veil showing the compassion of God extended to us to provide our comfort is intended for us to extend that compassion to others while comforting them. We’ve failed to remove the veil exposing the perceived enemy before us is clearly our neighbor. We’ve failed to remove the veil that feeds our selfish narcissism so that we can sacrifice for the good of others. We’ve failed to remove the veil that underscoring the needless point of suffering is how God is able to comfort his people. We’ve failed to remove the veil so that we can still clutch the stone held in our hands ignoring the voice saying, “he who is without sin, may cast the first stone.” We’ve failed to remove the veil, in part, because we like the darkness and have embraced the darkness while claiming to walk in light. We’ve failed to remove the veil because the hopelessness seems more familiar than offering hope.

I remember my sophomore year of college. I was in Bible class when the professor talked about his weekend. He mowed his lawn. Actually, he said he was in the middle of mowing his lawn when he noticed that his five-year-old son had retrieved his toy lawnmower and was “helping him” mow the lawn. Immediately, a veil was removed as he saw with clarity. His son was mimicking his every movement, following his father’s example. My professor said he thought he could be self-absorbed and continue to mow the lawn. Instead, he loaded his mower onto his truck and invited his son to do the same. With his son sitting next to him, he drove across town to an elderly widow’s home whose lawn was in extreme need of care. For the rest of the afternoon, he and his son served the widow.

By removing the veil, my professor saw a means by which to serve. By removing the veil, he not only saw Jesus clearly, but he was able to be Jesus to his son. When that happened, they experienced an unveiled hope.

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

* See Exodus 32:15. While known as the Ten Commandments today, that phrase is a late development and was often known as Ten Words.

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We Are Not Home Yet!

In the wake of the 1997 Heath High School shooting in Paducah, Kentucky, Steven Curtis Chapman released a song entitled, Not Home Yet! How much the song was written in response to the mass shooting is unknown. Chapman himself was reflecting on the themes of heaven and aimed at writing a song for those facing difficult trials to provide hope for their journey. In the song Chapman describes life as a pilgrim on a journey. Sometimes the view is breathtakingly spectacular, and the steps are easy as your feet are light as a feather. Other times, the view is hidden from sight. Storms hit and hit hard. Your shoes feel like concrete blocks, inching forward is all but impossible. You cannot take another step, and each step feels closer to the storm that drives the hopeless fear in you. So Chapman writes, “So close your eyes with me • And hear the Father saying, ‘Welcome home’ • Let us find the strength in all his promises to carry on • He said, ‘I’ll go prepare a place for you’ • So let us not forget • We are not home yet.”*

Max Lucado believes that deep within us lies the tiny Whipporwill who sings of eternity. His songs remind us that we are not intended for the temporary but for one day to be joined by the everlasting. His beautiful and soft melodic voice resonates with our soul. Too many times, though, his voice is drowned out by the noise around us, while other songs focus on the present not the future. The songs clamor for our attention to be satisfied. They play for our egos to be stroked. They thirst for our power to be quenched. They woo us for our affection to be fulfilled. But their competing songs do not and will not endure. They fade away like that last echo in the mountains. The Whipporwill, in the words of Lucado, says that “Out of the gray he sings a golden song. Perched in time he chirps a timeless verse. Peering through pain’s shroud, he sees a painless place. Of that place he sings.”** When he sings, we are reminded that we are not home yet.

Sunday mornings is a time of renewal and refocus. For six days we journey through the “here and now” until we come to worship where the focus is on the “then and there.” We live in the temporary, but we long for the Eternal. Sunday morning is that reminder that the real world is not the one that unfolds throughout the week, but the one that engages us on Sunday morning, as we peer with faithful eyes to what will be, not to what is. We read, “In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go . . . I will come back and take you to be with me . . ..” (Jn. 14:2-3). When we’ve read those words, we sing, “Oh, the land of cloudless day • Oh, the land of an unclouded sky • Oh, they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise • Oh, they tell of an unclouded day.” As we are renewed and refocused, then return to our houses, we are also reminded that we are not home yet.

Hidden beyond the message of 2 Corinthians 3:7-11 is this home, a theme Paul will explore further in chapter 5. For now, Paul takes the readers back to Sinai where Moses receives the Covenant while Israel, camping in Sinai’s shadow, is doing everything they can to shatter any hope for a covenant with God. By using the word “ministry” instead of “covenant” Paul contrasts the difference between what Moses mediated and what Christ provides, noting that both ministries bring their own glory. Paul drops the word “glory” eight times.

He says the ministry at Sinai came with glory (v. 7) and that Moses’ face shined with glory (v. 7). Contrastingly, he says the Spirit’s ministry is more glorious (v. 8). In a “how much more” question Paul shows that the ministry that condemns is glorious, but that the ministry that brings righteousness is more glorious (v. 9). What was then glorious, referring to Sinai, has no glory when compared to the surpassing glory of this ministry with Jesus (v. 10). And finally, with the glory of Moses’s ministry fading away or faded away, the new glory of Jesus will endure forever (v. 11).

All that “glory” may be a bit much to absorb without slowly working through verses 7-11. But it is verse 11 that drew my attention when Paul writes, “And if what was fading away came with glory, how much greater is the glory of that which lasts!” For fifteen hundred years the glory of Moses’ ministry permeated and sustained Israel. And one might say that it sustained Israel in spite of themselves. But Moses’ ministry was finally coming to an end. As glorious as Moses’ ministry was the clock had been ticking and what Moses was offering was soon running out.

On the other hand, the ministry brought by Jesus has an enduring quality about it. The glory of Jesus’ ministry is not only its power, but that it will endure. Whatever you do in the name of Jesus will not be in vain or ultimately leave one empty handed. Jesus’ ministry brings meaning and substance to life as people are changed and transformed into his likeness (v. 18). In essence, what Paul is saying is that the closest we find our home on this side of eternity is experienced through the glorious ministry of Jesus. And that home or ministry lasts, no matter what.

The tension between the ministry that occurs in the “here and now” and the ministry that takes root and grows into the “then and there” is present and felt. Too often, with limited vision, all we see is what happens in the “here and now” without clear sight on the “then and there.” It gets frustrating. It feels like we are always estranged from home. When that happens, we all wonder, “What’s the point? What good have I done? Who really cares?”

We care for our patients. STNA’s minister through bathing them. Nurses minister by checking on their vitals. Social Workers minister by calming their financial worries. Spiritual Care ministers by leading them closer to God. Visitation Coordinators minister by providing team support while they suffer. Patients come and go and sometimes the eternal gets lost in the daily grind, the temporary, day-to-day visits, as we check off who we’ve seen and who we need to see next. I get it. I do too.

For thirty years I gave my life to ministry. In the process, like most church ministers, I’ve worn a lot of hats. I welcomed babies at hospitals, taught the young, married couples, worked with the aging, and overseen funerals. Outside of caring for churches, I’ve volunteered for civic organizations. I led Cub Scouts, helped with Boy Scouts, coached baseball teams, was an ongoing presence the schools where my children attended. At the end of it all, what did it get me? If what I see in this temporary is all I see, then I’m not the only one to feel the weight of disillusionment. Others have felt it as well, including Samuel Morrison.

In the early days of the Twentieth Century, Samuel Morrison decided it was time to go home. For the past twenty-five years he had given his life as a missionary to the African people. At the end of his tenure, he had nothing to show for it. He was broken. His finances were broken as he had run out of support and barely had enough money to return Stateside. He had no retirement. His heart was broken as he had buried his wife in Africa. His spirit was broken and had nothing left to give. With no fanfare, he left the mission field behind and boarded an ocean liner for the United States.

By happenstance one of the passengers on that ship was the President Teddy Roosevelt who was returning from a successful hunting expedition in Africa. All the excitement and fanfare kept the ship a buzz during the journey. But it was when the ship docked in New York Harbor that Samuel Morrison saw that the entire city of New York came out to the harbor to catch a glimpse of the President. Banners were raised. People were cheering. Choirs of children were singing. Balloons were floating in the air, flashbulbs were popping, cameras were recording the President’s arrival. Bands were playing. As the president departed the ship confetti and ticker tape showered on him like summer rain.

Samuel Morrison watched the spectacle unfold as one more broken moment sank in. He quietly exited the ship. No one greeted him as he was a nobody, a ghost. Alone, he slipped through the crowd hoping, to no avail, to find a cab. As walked the streets of New York, he prayed to the only one listening, if he really was listening, “Lord, the president has been in Africa for three weeks killing animals, and the whole world turns out to welcome him home! I’ve given twenty-five years of my life in Africa, serving you, and no one has greeted me, or even knows I’m here!”

Samuel Morrison continued to walk in his own silence. But in the quietness of his heart, a gentle, loving voice whispered, “But my dear child, you are not home, yet!” You are not home, yet!

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

* Steven Curtis Chapman, Not Home Yet, 1997.

** Max Lucado, “The Song of the Whipporwill” from When God Whispers Your Name, 1994.

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Who Is Equal to Such a Task?

The line between calling and competence is as thin as a sheet of ice. Being led to a ministry is one thing. Being able to complete a ministry is something entirely different. Most will tell you that God led them into ministry or to a particular ministry. At the same time, studies will reveal that most will also tell you that ministers lack experiencing the grace to pilot the ministry. They feel someone else is more qualified than they to lead the same ministry. It’s a struggle I faced many times.

During my early ministry days, I often wondered if someone else might be a better fit for the church I was pastoring. I had finished a solid education, was on the cusps of my thirties, and started a family. Preparing three lessons a week is a challenge in and of itself, but preachers figure out how to meet the challenge. Navigating church dynamics and personalities is another story. Conflict and conflict resolution is a tall order for someone lacking experience. Church politics is always a minefield. The need for building trust when one assumes that trust has already been built can be a fatal mistake. Extending grace when others refuse is not for the faint of heart, but for those who have already persevered under trial.

Introspectively, far more than I care to admit, I raised the question, “Who is equal to such a task?” knowing full well that it wasn’t me.

When Paul asked that very question, he was delving into the aroma of Christ imagery of 2 Corinthians 2:15-17. The gospel is not always popular; the gospel has never been intended to be a complete crowd pleaser. While to some we are the aroma of Christ – which is a pleasing smell – the aroma still comes from the carcass offered in sacrificial ritual worship. The dead body burns and those in the know believe its smell is a pleasing aroma. Those on the outside smell the odor of the decaying, burning body, and it is rank. Like that burning corps, our ministry is viewed by the people and society as either a pleasing aroma or the smell of death, though both images are about a carcass. The question remains, “Who is equal to such a task?”

When Moses met God at the burning bush, he was being called to lead Israel out of slavery and bondage from Egypt. Not surprisingly, Moses believed he wasn’t up to the challenge. The last time he played hero ended badly for him. After murdering an Egyptian to protect an Israelite, the move backfired. He ran with his tail between his legs to Moab to escape the reach of Pharoah and to live his life under the radar. Moving back to Egypt or to live with the Israelites was never in his plan. Nearing eighty years of age, he was enjoying his retirement. Five times Moses gave God reasons for passing him by. “Who am I to go to Pharoah” (Ex. 3:11), “I don’t know your name” (v. 14), “What if they don’t listen to me” (Ex. 4:1), “I’m not a good speaker” (v. 10), and a final desperation plea, “Just send someone else” (v. 14). Each of those reasons raised by Moses gets to the heart of Paul’s statement: who is equal to such a task? Moses readily admits, he’s not.

When Gideon was called to rescue Israel from the Midianites, God told him that he was a mighty warrior (Jud. 6:12). A mighty warrior, indeed. Something tells me Gideon had never fought in a battle, much less drawn swords. No, Gideon was anything but a warrior as he confessed that he was not only part of the weakest clan in Manasseh, but he was the least in his own family. Essentially, Gideon told God that he was a nobody. A nobody. In his rationalization Gideon struggled with Paul’s question, “Who is equal to such a task,” Gideon knew he wasn’t.

In the same year that beloved King Uzziah died, Isaiah witnessed a vision of the Almighty Lord. Seated high and exalted on his throne, he was surrounded by angelic beings singing to him. The hem of God’s robe filled the temple because nothing on earth can contain him. His voice shook the threshold and doorposts while smoke filled the temple. Isaiah’s “face-to-face” encounter with God drove him to cry out, confessing his sins. “Woe to me! I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty” (Is. 6:5). By looking upon the Lord himself, Isaiah got a good look in the mirror. Quickly, all his sins and shame were crystal clear as if he were watching himself in HD. The guilt and reproach forced him to wonder who was equal to such a task. Certainly, it wasn’t him.

Jeremiah’s task was set before him, and to say it was a tall order was an understatement. The motto for his ministry was, “to uproot and tear down” (Jer. 1:10). The motto might have caught on if it were applied to Babylon. It wasn’t. It was applied to Israel, which is hardly a popular motto for a national ministry. Truth be known, outside of a couple of people, no one listened to Jeremiah. His message was politically loaded as he advocated surrender to Babylon. He was abused, arrested, imprisoned, and even betrayed by his own family. When God called Jeremiah, the soon-to-be-prophet goes directly to his youth for his play, calling himself a child (Jer. 1:6). If, as some believe, Jeremiah was about 20 years of age at the time of his calling, then Jeremiah wondered who was equal to such a task. For him, he was too young.*

But God was not accepting any of the excuses or rationalizations. God wasn’t dancing to their song. After Moses’ five excuses were countered, God told him, enough. Aaron was on the way to meet him, and he was going anyway. After Gideon argued that he was the weakest among the weakest, God showed him how the Midianites were shaking in their boots. After Isaiah confessed his sinfulness, God purified his sins by touching his lips with a hot coal. And when Jeremiah saw only his youthfulness, God promised him his presence, telling him not to fear for he will be with him. Yes, who is equal to such a task? It’s a good question, until one realizes that God is a force to be reckoned with.

In the next chapter of 2 Corinthians Paul begins to answer the question, “Who is equal to such a task?” Given the antagonists who had infiltrated Corinth and were beginning to undermine Paul’s ministry, the question was relevant for Paul to address. Paul suffered too much. Paul’s speaking ability was far from eloquent. Paul carried no letters of recommendation. While they were taking him down, they threw shade on him for refusing money from the Corinthians. To the antagonists influencing the Corinthians, Paul is far from equal to such a task.

And on his own, Paul readily agreed. He said that the confidence we have is not from ourselves, our talents, our education, our connections, or our exegetical and hermeneutical abilities. Our confidence is rooted and grows out of God and the power he gives us. As Paul says,

“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God” (2 Cor. 3:4-5).

God is the one who fuels competency in what we do. We may be Spiritual Care offering divine and compassionate hope to a patient without hope. We may be an STNA who offers gentle physical care like bathing a patient without dehumanizing them. We may be a nurse taking vital signs or counting pills or educating family members on treatment, while making the patient feel like he/she is your favorite patient. We may be a Bereavement Coordinator who holds the hand of the family after the patient has passed. We may be a Volunteer Coordinator whose greatest role is to sit and actively listen to the patient as they reveal their worries and concerns. We may be a social worker who leads the family to secure the final preparations of life. Or, we may be a TC whose soothing voice calms the anxiety of the person on the other end of the phone call. The competency to fulfill these actions do not come from us, but from God. When that happens, we are equal to such as task.

Thirty years have passed since I stepped into my first preaching ministry. It was a long time ago but feels like yesterday. I was arrogant, but also unsure. I was hopeful, but also anxious. I was mentoring, but also needed mentored. I made mistakes but was often too prideful to admit them. I felt the thin ice between calling and competence crack more times than I care to admit. If my older self could pull my younger self aside, I’d try to reassure him. I’d tell him it was going to be ok, and that God will supply what is needed to make you equal to such a task. Some may say that sounds mysterious. Some may push back and say that such a statement isn’t goal driven or a purpose driven model to build a ministry. They may be right. Still, others might call it the one thing we need most. Grace.

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

*These examples were inspired by comments made by Scott J. Hafemann, 2 Corinthians, The NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000), 127.

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Letters of Recommendation

My college admission likely hinged on the quality of recommendation letters written by personally selected alumni. My grades were far from impressive, reflected in my ACT scores. I was an academic bubble risk because I was an ADHD/dyslexic kid before ADHD was diagnosable and dyslexia was understood. Reading and reading-comprehension, with an inability for rote memorization, all but doomed my hopes of a college experience. Truth be known, some even told me to quit dreaming of going to college. I needed help getting into my college of choice, because I was not getting in on my own merits.

I sought out my high school principal, my cross-country coach, and my preacher – all whom graduated from the school I was sending my application to – and asked them to write a letter of recommendation. They agreed. I never knew what they wrote. They never shared, and I never asked. All I knew was that I needed someone to go to bat for me. I needed someone to speak for me if I was going to have a chance to begin my academic studies.

Letters of recommendations help in introductions, giving credibility to the one whom the letter is written about. They are a common practice and have been around for a very long time. You have probably written one or have had someone write one for you. They are a staple in society. They are a staple in almost every society.

The letter connects three points of a triangle. The first point is the subject or whom the letter is about. The second point is the recipient of the letter who does not know the subject personally. The third point is the author of the letter who knows the subject and the recipients, and acts as a mediator to introduce the two. The one writing the letter pours his/her own credibility into the subject since the subject has no credibility with the recipients. Essentially, letters of recommendation sound like this: “Hey guys, Jon here. I know Joe and I think Joe is a good guy who does good work. You guys ought to give Joe a look, or a second look.”

Since letters of recommendation introduce people and give an endorsement to lay a foundation for believability, they are commonplace and, as said earlier, have been around for a long time. Long before access to the internet, or making a quick phone call for verification, or dropping a quick text to a friend, carrying a letter endorsed by someone else or a group of people was crucial in establishing credibility.

No better example of this can be found than in Acts 18. Apollos, who was in Ephesus at the time, wanted to preach in Corinth. So, the church in Ephesus wrote letters to the church in Corinth on behalf of Apollos (Act. 18:27). The church in Ephesus knew Apollos, but the church in Corinth did not. With a letter from the Ephesian church, the Corinthian church welcomed Apollos with open arms. From 1 Corinthians we know that many came to love Apollos and his preaching (see 1 Cor. 1:12; 3:4-6, 20-22).

Letters of recommendation played an important role and function in society, especially in the early days of the church. Having some proof of who you are goes a long way in establishing trust, rapport, and credibility.

One of the issues Paul was facing was that the Corinthians were seeking letters of recommendation from him. Supposedly, some individuals had arrived in Corinth carrying such letters. Who they were, what the content of the letters were, and who authored the letters are all unknown. The simplest answer is that the individuals and letters originated from Jerusalem. If that is the case, we are likely not talking about James, the brother of Jesus, or Peter, or one of the other apostles, but a faction group in Judea that resisted Paul, his teachings, and his mission.

So, a group of individuals carried letters of recommendation to establish their credibility with Corinth. Paul had no such letters. Paul needed no such letters. But the group infiltrating the church began using Paul’s lack of letters against him. They had letters, he didn’t. They had credibility, he didn’t. They had authority, he didn’t. They had support from Jerusalem or Judea or whoever penned the letter, Paul didn’t. And that became their point of entry into undermining Paul’s ministry. He had no letters.

Paul had no letters of recommendation because Paul needed no letters. He came to Corinth empty handed, except for the message of Jesus to share with people. No church existed in Corinth when Paul arrived. Working bi-vocationally he set up a tent business to support himself, while speaking, teaching, and preaching in the Synagogue on the Sabbath. He planted the seed and started cultivating the church in Corinth. Nurturing their faith, he led them through the waters of baptism and out of the darkness of paganism. They knew him. They worshipped with him. They walked with him. He had no reason to carry letters of recommendation as the Corinthians probably knew him better than people in Jerusalem.

Thus, when Paul probes the Corinthians, he asked them rhetorically, “Do we need . . . letters of recommendations to you or from you?” (2 Cor. 3:1b). Of course, he doesn’t need such letters. But then he turns the issue on itself, stating in the next line, “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody” (3:2). The proof of Paul’s credibility and ministry is not based on a letter written by someone a thousand miles away who never ventured into Achaia but written by the church themselves through their faith and growth in the Spirit.

Paul places the burden of proof, not on someone else, but on them. When people look at Paul’s ministry, he will not allow them to judge it by his personal credentials. He does have them: a Hebrew, an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham (2 Cor. 11:22-23), circumcised on the eighth day, tribe of Benjamin, Pharisee, and faultless in regard to legalistic righteousness (Phil. 4:4b-5), and schooled in Jerusalem under the feet of Gamaliel (Act. 22:3). Paul neither relied on those experiences to garner his credibility, nor flaunt them as a means to strengthen his standing. Looking at his people in the pew, he implored, “You are my letters of recommendation. Your lives, changed by the gospel of Jesus Christ, are the proof to validate my ministry.”

If you ask me, the easy step is to provide a letter from someone verifying your credibility. Letters are a dime a dozen. I once wrote a letter for a young man I knew six months so that he will get into a school. I questioned why he should ask me; I barely knew him. He said, “It’s just formality, I’ve been accepted into the school already.” Drumming up a letter to provide as proof of ministry is easy in and of itself. The hard step is to look at the people we minister to and allow them to be the proof of our ministry. Has the body produced the Fruit of the Spirit? Has harmony replaced dissonance in the community? Has love, forgiveness, and grace switched with hate, bitterness, and legalism? Is the community marked by being a place of healing or a place where pain festers? Is the community caring for the marginalized or consumed with serving their own people? The hardest part in all of this is the trust one must have in a community to place one’s credibility with their behavior.

For our hospice care, the most important letter we write is the one on the heart of our patients and their families. What they say about us and about our service is the letter worth reading. We make that happen by how we engage and serve our patients and their families.

I once experienced a profound letter of recommendation. It wasn’t written on paper, nor was it about me. It was penned in and from the heart of my sister.

Deanna and I were playing under the dining room table on a Sunday afternoon. We were in the third grade and were reflecting on Sunday school class hours earlier. I don’t remember what were playing or why we were under the table. I don’t remember what time of year it was, but I suspect it was summer since our Sunday school teacher did a no-show at church. With no back up teacher in play, Deanna and I were sent up a grade for Bible class. I can’t remember if we were sent to the 5th and 6th grade class or the junior high class, but I do remember the classroom was among the upper rooms of the church building, a place I rarely ventured to. I remember climbing the stairs to the classroom like we were climbing steps of a mountain to visit the wise guru. We entered the room where a handful of children were being taught a Bible lesson from their teacher. The teacher was our mother.

I don’t remember what the lesson was that morning as most of that day is a memory fog. What is clear, as if it said it yesterday, was the comment my sister made to me under the table in the privacy of our own little world. Deanna looked at me and said, “When mom teaches, she makes you want to be a better person.” Mom did not have a lot of credentials as a teacher, but she had biblical knowledge, a passion for the Scriptures, and a heart for storytelling. She made the text come alive with clear application for our lives. Thus, it was an easy step to be a better person because she showed us how.

What Deanna stumbled across that Sunday afternoon under the dining table sits at the core of Paul’s thought in 2 Corinthians 3. Teaching, preaching, or ministering is less about crossing denominational doctrinal “T’s” or doting “I’s,” and more about whether the person teaching, preaching, or ministering is inspiring you, motivating you, or modeling for you to become a better person, to become a better version of “you,” who reflects Jesus Christ. And when you are that better person, God gets the glory while your source of inspiration is validated through your life. And no letter of recommendation can substitute for a transformed follower. As Paul concludes, “You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts” (2 Cor. 3:3).

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

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Paper Faces On Parade

Halloween kicks off the holiday season as one big, mascaraed ball. Children, and even adults, dress up pretending to be something or someone they are not. Masks help with the illusion. At our office Halloween Trick or Treating afternoon, we saw the children come in with their many costumes. Some adults did too. My granddaughter dressed up as The Lion Queen, in an outfit my wife made for our daughter. Maverick dressed up as Spider-Man as he climbed the walls. Addi was an adorable Squishmellon. The costumes and the masks help sell the act, hiding the reality for the fantasy.

Mask wearing is expected when we go to a costume party. Mask wearing is common when adulting. Masks tend to protect us from showing our true nature. At a costume party we try to hide our true identity so that inquiring people ask, “Who is behind the mask?” When adulting, mask wearing tends to hide our scars, or our fears, or our darker selves.

Andrew Lloyd Weber understood something about masks. In his proclaimed mask story, the Phantom of the Opera, the main antagonist wears a mask to conceal his scars, but nothing can hide the scars of his broken heart. The chorus, gathered for mascaraed ball, are all in costume, each wearing masks. They confess, singing, “Mascaraed! Paper faces on parade . . . Hide your face, so the world will never find you. Mascaraed! Every face a different shade . . . look around, there’s another mask behind you.”  

Taking their advice, when we look behind us, we notice the masks people wear. We note that the mask of sarcasm hides our bitterness. The mask of humor covers our nervousness. The mask of bravery conceals our fear. The mask of strength camouflages our weakness. The mask of self-righteousness shrouds our shame. The mask of confidence obscures our doubt. The mask of assuredness disguises our timidity. Yes, masks are nothing more than paper faces on parade, so that we can pretend to be something we’re not.

Paul might have known something about these masks since he saw right through them. Instead of embracing the masks, he grew tired of them. Ready to strip the facade from the Corinthians, Paul was exposed them and their authentic identity.

Second Corinthians 13 opens with an ominous promise by Paul. He’s coming to visit them for the third time, but unless they repent and change, this forthcoming visit will hold second coming judgmental overtones. By quoting Deuteronomy 19:15, “Every matter must be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses” (2 Cor. 13:1), the stakes are high and in play. This law was put into place to prevent someone from leveling a false accusation against another. Having someone to corroborate the accusation ensures its legitimacy. Granted, it’s not foolproof, but it does provide a level of protection to the innocent.

With Deuteronomy in play, Paul interprets these so-called “witnesses” as his visits to the Corinthians.

When Paul first went to Corinth and established the church in Acts 18, he may be linking that visit as the first witness. The second visit, which he discusses earlier in the letter (2 Cor. 1:23-2:1) is the second witness. Paul describes that visit as “painful” (2 Cor. 2:1), probably for him. At that time someone(s) humiliated Paul before the church; essentially, they hung him out to dry. They likely mocked him, saying the great apostle Paul left like a dog with his tail between his legs. That said, before being run-out-of-town, Paul warned them that their behavior would have unintended consequences (2 Cor. 13:2). Finally, the third visit is the one to come which he promises in verse 1 and we find its fruition in Acts 20:3.

Pleading, begging, and extending any olive branch will come to an end. Paul has warned them, and unlike a compliant parent, he will not warn them again. He will take decisive action on those who continue to sow strife. They will reap a whirlwind.

Here is where the masks begin to be removed, and the face is exposed for its ugliness. At the end of 2 Corinthians 12, Paul addresses two sets of sins still plaguing the church. Even though Paul addressed them at length in his first letter, those sins are dug into them like sliver under the skin. It will take more than just picking at these to be removed.

The first set of sins are not only relational in nature but are also toxic. Such communal sins will poison the life of the church (or any organization, for that matter), eventually leaving a “Hunger Games” victor. Honestly, what bragging rights would one have? Paul lists them as quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger, factions, slander, gossip, arrogance, and disorder (12:20b). No one wants to be part of any organization that is emotionally cannibalistic, constantly devouring each other. No one wants to listen to the thump of the bus running over the latest person who happened to be thrown under it.

The second set of sins are immoral in nature, often linked to idolatry. Paul describes them as impurity, sexual sin, and debauchery. The added line, “in which they have indulged” (12:21), seems to suggest an ongoing problem. In a permissive society, immoral behavior stains the heart, clouds the judgment, and creates a wedge between us and God. Even though society tries to justify immoral behavior, the guilt within the conscience will not be quieted. It will come out, either through repentance or, to sooth oneself, begin attacking others.

So, when Paul calls out these sins to the church, then turns around and warns them that he is coming to confront them for demanding proof that Christ is speaking through him (13:3), be assured that these two groups are one and the same. The ones dividing the church and engaging in immorality are likely the ones linking themselves to the so-called Super Apostles and challenging Paul’s authority. The reason for taking on the apostle seems clear enough: he confronted them. He called them out, and they knew it. He stripped away their masks and exposed them for the ugliness they are. With the paper faces exposed, everyone could see that they have been pretending to be something they are not. All their pretensions were gone, and what was left wasn’t very attractive. And when Paul arrives, if they fail to repent, he will take decisive action against them.

Pretending to be something you’re not is detrimental to the health of the believer and the church. At some point you will get exposed and it won’t be good.

One day wolf was on a hill overlooking a flock of sheep. He was hungry. He was also tired, and did not feel up to an all-out assault on the flock, noting the shepherd was watching the flock. He sat on the hill contemplating his situation. To his luck he spotted a sheepskin behind the bushes. How it got there he didn’t know, nor did he care. He just stared at it for a while until he had an idea. “Why not put the sheepskin on me. Then, I’ll infiltrate the flock as one of them. Tonight, I’ll have the choice of the best.” So the wolf began implementing his plan.

He took the sheepskin and began putting it on, like it was a costume. While his front legs went through the front legs of the sheepskin ok, he struggled to get his back legs into the appropriate sheepskin legs. He determined that the sheepskin must have been a size 36 while he wore a 42 long. The head of the sheep covered his head, barely, but it fit like a cheap mask. Needless to say, the skin worked well enough to hide his identity, and if he was lucky, the sheep won’t notice his peculiar look. Let’s face it, sheep are not known as the smartest animals in the pen.

Next, he had to work on his voice. Wolves sound nothing like sheep, and he knew it. He started rehearsing, “Aah-rrrooooooooh.” The wolf coughed and cleared his throat, “No that won’t do at all.” He tried again, “Bah-rrroooooooh.” Once again, the wolf coughed and cleared his throat, “No, that won’t do.” He tried again, thinking, three’s a charm, “Baaa-oooooooh.” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe it was good enough to pass himself off as a sheep.

Sneaking down the hill, the wolf slowly infiltrated the flock of sheep. He tried to act naturally, and while the sheep thought him strange, they gave it no more thought. We know why.

That night the sheep were herded into a pen. The wolf was successfully part of the flock and began salivating at the thought of having lamb chops for dinner. He started feeling out the sheep. “No, this one is too old. No, this one is too cute to eat. Wait!” he thought to himself, “this one is perfect!” As he was about to take his first bite of dinner, he heard behind him a click of a lock, followed by creek of a door opening then closing, ending with another click of a lock. Then he heard the voice of the shepherd, saying, “Boy, don’t veal sound good for dinner tonight?” And as he made his way through the flock, the wolf heard him say, “Nope, this one is too old. Nope, this one is too cute.” At that moment the wolf heard him say, “Yes, this one is perfect.”

Sure, the shepherd was surprised to realize that the sheep he thought he had killed was really a wolf, but not as surprised as the wolf who learned a little too late that pretending to be something you’re not, can be very dangerous in the long run.

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

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Cruciformed

The preacher, speaking to an audience of teenagers, held their attention like he was holding them in the palm of his hand, and he wasn’t letting them go. His dynamic and charismatic message was drawing the young to the cross, while the props on the table helped pave the path to clarify his message. He spoke boldly and convincingly, quoting Jesus, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).

The items, neatly positioned on the table, were a handful of different crosses which helped move his message forward. Among the varied crosses was an attractive pendant to be worn around the neck. Another was a bookmark to be used while reading. Still, another was a six-foot rugged, heavy cross leaning against the table itself. Each of the crosses had a name attached to it, as if they were made for a specific person. The preacher kept preaching and expounding on the verse, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).

As if responding to an altar call, motivated individuals stood up to “pick up their cross in order to follow Jesus.” The bookworm asked for his cross and was given the pendant. Disappointed, and refusing to accept his cross, he said, “I don’t wear jewelry, I was hoping for the bookmark.” He returned to his seat. The petite girl jumped up like a cheerleader hoping to be given the pendant only to realize her cross was the six-foot rugged cross. Bewildered, she said, “I can’t carry that thing around school. It’s too big, too bulky, too heavy.” Walking back to her seat, someone overheard her say, “I’d hurt myself.” The lineman on the football team, never balking at a challenge, approached the table hoping for the six-foot rugged cross, only to be given a bookmark. A bookmark. The irony was beyond belief. Without saying a word, he set the bookmark back on the table and returned to his seat. Still, the preacher continued his message, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).

The participants in this scenario reflect a mindset prevalent to today’s market. We love to quote Scriptures about the cross, “. . . pick up your cross and follow me.” We love to sing about the cross, “So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross, till my trophies at last I lay down; I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown.” We wear crosses as jewelry, have tattoos of crosses on our bodies, and place crosses as iconography in our churches. But when it comes to picking up our cross to follow Jesus to Golgotha, we tend to take an alternative path.  

We saw that alternative path three years ago.

Saying the pandemic was hard on people, society, and churches was an understatement. Hospitalizations overstressed and overworked the health care workers. Death tolls from COIVD-19, no matter how you count the cases, were far greater than we care to admit. Businesses, not deemed essential, were closed, cutting into people’s savings accounts. Schools shifted to online studies putting many at-risk children behind their learning and social developmental curve. Churches were forced to meet outdoors or online as well. And when the doors finally opened, social distancing was the new norm. And still today, one of the biggest mysteries was how there came a rush on toilet paper? Yes, the pandemic was hard on everybody, and sometimes it was far more than we could bear.

Like filling in a coloring book, the Pandemic was filled-in with white noise. We not only speculated on the origin of the virus, but also read into why the government was taking steps for the lockdown protocols, masks, and social distancing. We took our cues from the news media, forming our beliefs based on their perspective of reporting. Questions were raised about our rights being violated. Whether the government was conspiring against its people or taking steps to protect its population was always held in tension. What we didn’t hear enough of was passages from Scripture like this one, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).

We march under the banner of the cross, but sometimes it feels like it’s all talk. We like to read about it in Scripture, sing about it in our hymns, and raise it up as an image in our churches as a heroic moment of triumph. Herein lies the conflict. The cross is not a sign of strength, but a sign of weakness. The cross is not a trophy displaying victory, but a refuse of humiliating defeat. The cross is not an ecstasy of pleasure, but a painful pit of suffering. The cross is not a place of honor, but a place of shame. The cross is not a celebration for winners, but a mockery for losers. The cross is not about success, but it’s all about failure. All of which seems to collide with our current culture consummation and a “conquest at all costs” conviction.

The Corinthians, like us, were enamored with a theology of success, blinding them to the reality of the gospel. They aborded being cruciformed, opting instead to equate the cross with an eloquent speaker whose charisma naturally attracted members. Looking for success, they rejected someone who suffered like Paul, bringing shame on all those who knew him. The form of this gospel, which Paul neither preached nor modeled in his life, was the exact gospel they were endorsing.

Paul was planning to make a visit. He hoped it was to initiate a repented spirit of reconciliation, and to clarify the heart of the gospel. But he had a backup plan, as he was prepared to confront the situation head-on with the power and authority Christ gave him. Thus, he spells out forthrightly, “For to be sure, (Jesus) was crucified in weakness, yet he lives by God’s power. Likewise, we are weak in him, yet by God’s power we will live with him to serve you” (2 Cor. 13:4).

Paul’s words can be spiced into two thoughts. First, the crucifixion was all about weakness, not strength. If Paul wrote those words today he would have underscored them, capitalized them, italicized them, and/or bolded them because this cannot be emphasized enough. Nailing a naked man to a cross for the purpose of insuring the most pain for the longest period, and then mocking and taunting him while he dies, has only one goal: to inflict shame, reproach, and anguish on the individual in the hope of discrediting his strength and character. No one in their right mind looks to a crucified criminal as some hero.

If followers of Christ are going to be shaped by the cross, then we must begin shifting our strategy from winning to losing, from strength to weakness, from honor to shame. Suffering is the new normal standard for people who carry the cross. We don’t demand our rights, as cruciformed followers of Jesus have abdicated our rights. We do not use our influence to manipulate, coerce, or power play a situation to get our way. A cruciformed person has no power. A cruciformed person has no voice. A cruciformed person has no rights. A cruciformed person is no longer concerned with self-preservation.

The second part of Paul’s thought taps into the power of a resurrected person. Paul’s use of power is directed toward the church and how Christ will work through Paul to correct behaviors and rebellion in the church. Such power seems regulated to the apostle, called by Christ himself to a church Paul planted. Such power and its use seem limited in scope. But another power is at play when Paul says, “. . . we will live with him to serve you” (v. 4b). This power is the power to serve. The power to wash feet. The power to put others’ needs and priorities over our own. The power to welcome one into God’s presence. The power to make sure the desires of others are met at the expense of personal preference. The power “to consider other people better than yourself” (Phil. 2:3). The power is to model a cruciformed Christ to the people around us.

If you want to see what this looks like on a daily basis, then look no further than the care we give others through hospice. To quote from our boss, “Hospice is doing the very thing the church should have been doing all along.” We serve. We encourage. We heal. We provide a safety net of support for people facing death, and that is a powerful place to stand.

↓ The preacher kept moving his message forward, coming back to his key verse, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24). Soon, the bookworm student came forward in repentance and said, “If I am to deny myself, I’ll carry the cross Jesus assigned to me,” and he reached for the cross pendant, and returned to his seat. The preacher continued preaching until the petite girl step forward and meekly said, “I want to follow Jesus under his terms, not mine. I’ll take the big, rugged cross even if it does hurt me.” She grabbed the cross and dragged it to her seat. The preacher kept preaching when the big brawny football player spoke up, “If he could die on the cross, I can carry a bookmark cross in my science book or my Bible.” Picking up his cross, he sat back down.

A cruciformed life is shaped by the cross, embracing the same shame, weakness, and selflessness Jesus embraced. At the heart of cruciform is Matthew 16:24, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).

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

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I Want to See Jesus

They were Greeks, standing outside of God’s promises. While drawn to the monotheism and the disciplined life offered by the Jews, they refused full commitment to Judaism. They were like New York City depression era children peering through the window of the luxury lifestyle and were satisfied with being outsiders. They were satisfied until Jesus showed up, and suddenly their spiritual hunger pains ached. Drawn to the teacher, but keeping their distance, they approached Philip with their request. “Sir, we would like to see Jesus” (Jn. 12:21).

If you listen carefully, those words have been reverberating throughout time, “We would like to see Jesus.” We can hear Zacchaeus utter them as he climbs the Sycamore tree just to get a glimpse of him passing by, “I just want to see Jesus” (Lk. 19:1-10). We can hear the so-called “sinful woman” whisper those words as she risks public shame by breaking social protocol to reach him, crying, “I just want to see Jesus” (Lk. 7:36-50). We can hear Thomas, so sure of himself as he disclosed his own fear of disappointment. “I’ll believe,” he says, “but first, I just want to see Jesus” (Jn. 20:25). And while John’s words are written so that we may trust his testimony, sometimes it feels like salt on an open wound. He says, “We heard him speak, we shook his hand and hugged him, we saw and gazed upon him” (1 Jn. 1:1). I read those same words and my hearts sinks because if I’m honest, I want so desperately to see him, too.

Something within us wants to see Jesus. As the song says, “Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, I want to see Jesus,” But something keeps me blinded to him. For some, like a child who sees their parent at the end of the day, they see him and run into his loving embrace. For others the wounds are so deep and painful to the touch, we long for the only means of healing possible. Still others are skeptical that he is full of grace and mercy, or that he is risen, or that he even lived to begin with, so we need his blessed assurance. All the while our greatest fear is that meeting him might not meet our expectations, and that in our hope it will only disappoint.

By the time Paul comes to 2 Corinthians 5:21 he is showing us a picture of Jesus, not the one we might want, but the picture of Jesus we need to see. In a church where their relationship with the apostle is estranged and tension is still present, Paul calls them to reconciliation. To hold the church together, they must stop the inward fighting and begin “reaching across the aisle.” More importantly, they must remove the fence they built to keep Paul out, and instead build a bridge or a larger table to invite Paul in. And in all this they must begin aligning themselves with God by assuming the role of an ambassador who actively participates in reconciliation. The motivation for reconciling is found in verse 21.

“God made him, who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

The perfect and pure, holy and hallowed, set apart and sinlessness of Jesus is well documented in Scripture. From John who calls out, “Look, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (Jn 1:29), to Peter who applies Isaiah proclamation to Jesus, “He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth” (1 Pet. 2:22; Is. 53:9), and to the Hebrews writer who claims, “. . . he was tempted in every way, just as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15), Scripture reinforces the perfection and sinlessness of Jesus. While he walked on this earth as a human, Jesus did so without the baggage we carry. He walked alone without sin, without guilt, without shame, without hatred, without lust, and without deceit. They never accompanied him. The dark places that encroach our hearts did not touch his heart. While Jesus was just like us, he was nothing like us.

Paul makes two statements in verse 21 that are deeper and richer than we can explore at this time. First, with God taking the initiative, he made Jesus who was without sin to be sin. Allow that image of those words to wash over you for a moment. Whether Paul is talking of the incarnation, when Jesus steps into humanity to endure all our sinfulness, or he’s talking about bearing the sins of the world on the cross, I do not know. It may be both.

All of us had to walk into patients’ homes that are nasty. The odor and stench are unbearable, as it absorbs into our clothing and into our noses. We can taste the nauseating foulness. Keeping the residents at arm’s length, we do everything we can to finish the visit and get out of their home. That’s not what Jesus did. No. He came and sat with us in our filth. Without becoming a sinner, he embraced us in our sin, refusing to keep us at arm’s length. He loved us despite our filth, and maybe even because of our filth, our failures, and our fears; it certainly wasn’t because of our great faith. Remember the indictment, whispered snarly under their breaths, “He eats with the sinners” (Lk. 15:1).

This leads to the second statement which is “. . . in him, we become the righteousness of God.” God now views us through the prism of Jesus which is how reconciliation is achieved in us and through us. The righteousness of God can either be imputative, in that God reaches down and declares us righteous, or its transformative, where God works through us to shape and mold our character to look like him. And like before, why not both imputative and transformative? He makes us righteous so that we become more righteous.

So Paul might describe it like this: the sinless one becomes sin-laden, so that in him the sinful may be viewed sinless; or the guiltless become guilty, so that in him the guilty may be viewed guiltless; or the righteous become lawless so that in him the lawless may be viewed as righteous; or the one with honor becomes shame so that in him those who are shamed may be viewed with honor.

What is left is a simple prayer, “Open the eyes of my heart Lord, I want to see Jesus.”

As a child, I had my fair share of spankings. I wasn’t a bad child who rebelled against his parents, but sometimes my behavior needed a course correction. Mom and Dad tried keeping me and my siblings on the straight and narrow. On this particular day, my hometown had experienced a good amount of rain and large mudpuddles were present, especially at school. Before we left that morning, mom told my brother, my sister, and me that we were not to get wet at school. Since I was in elementary school, I guess I interpreted her command to be limited to school hours. Mom was the librarian and often stayed till 4:30 or later, so with nothing better to do after hours, I played outside. I played in the mudpuddle. I got soaked playing in the mudpuddle.

Mom said nothing on the way home, but I’m pretty sure she was reaching a boiling point. She called me to the kitchen where she expressed her displeasure at my behavior. Then, with the belt in hand, she invited me to her lap.

To say I deserved the punishment is unquestionable. Looking back on that moment, I’ve wondered if there was not a better way to handle the moment.

The story is told of a family with a delinquent son who always pushed the boundaries of his parents. One of his favorite episodes was to be late for dinner. Sitting at the table with the entire family was a core value for the patriarch of the family. The son, though, thought differently. He hated the formality and viewed his time with his parents and siblings as an encroachment on his own time. His passive aggressive behavior kicked in so that being late to dinner was his means of thumbing his nose to his parents.

At wits end, the father looked at his son and said, “The next time you’re late to supper, you will sit here with an empty plate and watch the rest of us eat dinner. Then, you will go to bed without supper.”

It didn’t take long for the son to rebel. The next night, he showed up late like he was calling his father’s bluff. With everyone in their seats, the father looked at his son and reinforced the punishment rule. He will watch them eat their dinner.

The father led the family in prayer.

Following the prayer, the family began serving themselves the food, except for the son who sat and watched the others pile on the delicious food. Once everyone was served, the father took his plate full of food and stood up. He walked over to his son and, while he removed his son’s empty plate, he set his own plate before the son. With his son’s plate in hand, he returned to his seat where he watched his family eat dinner.

The similarities of these stories are linked to a son who stands in defiance to his parents. The contrast between the two stories is how the parent chooses to exact punishment on the child. While the corporal punishment debate is not in play here, one of these scenarios looks more like Jesus than the other. And if you can see the difference, then maybe, maybe, you can say you’ve seen Jesus.

“Open the eyes of my heart Lord, I want to see Jesus” . . . “God made him, who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

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