From Comforted To Comforting
Everyone Has a Story: But Is It a Story Worth Telling?
Everyone has a story. We shape it early in life, not only in our experiences, but even more so in how we frame the telling. It doesn’t take long for the disclosing of our story to begin shaping our identity. We’re either the smartest person in the room or we feel we have a low IQ. We’re either athletic or lack the necessary coordination skills. We’re either popular or we’re rejected. We’re either the bully or the one being bullied. How we craft our story often reflects how we engage with life.
Such experiences not only shape the story we tell about ourselves but it also bleeds into our relationship with God. The result is a spiritual polarization and a distorted telling of our story. For instance, some feel they deserve God’s salvation and believe their worthy of his relationship. Others feel like God hates them. For the arrogant it’s probably a front for feelings of unworthiness; in the deep crevices of their minds God really is angry and disappointed in them.
One man had a story he told time and time again. When he woke up in the morning, he looked in the mirror and rehearsed his lines, “I know you’re a hard man,” When he engaged his friends, he practiced his speech, “I know he harvests where he has not sown.” As he hung out with his fellow workers, he bounced his ideas off of them, “I know he gathers where he does not scatter seeds.” And at the end of the day, he looked in the mirror one more time, uttering, “That’s why I was afraid. So I hid the money in the ground” (Mt. 25:24-25).
At every turn the feedback was positive and encouraging. As he shared his story, his narrative was reinforced by those listening. They patted him on the back. They supported and fortified his telling. They agreed and believed his story was their story. With every telling his confidence in the story grew. He delivered his lines flawlessly like he was sure to win an academy award. He was ready for his final performance.
The curtain call came. He was to perform before an audience of one.
His master had returned from a far journey. The servants were now to give an account of their dealings. The master wanted to hear their stories while he was away on business. One by one they came and told their success stories. They were great stories too. Whether they had five or two sums of money didn’t matter, they had woven a beautiful story of faithfulness, doubling his investment, which made their master beam with pride. He loved their stories.
Then came the last man. He stood before the master and delivered his lines with the boldness and smoothness he’d practiced. His telling was technically flawless. But his story garnered the opposite effect of what he hoped. Expecting to be praised or forgiven, the master wanted anything but an encore. He saw the servant for what really was, wicked and lazy. If he was scared, and if the master was as shrewd as he supposed, then depositing the money for interests was far more honorable than digging a hole for the money. Doing something, and even failing, was better than doing nothing at all. He fired the servant and had him thrown to the street (Mt. 25:26-27).
The cataclysmic failure of this man’s storytelling was wrong on so many levels. He had a wrong view of his master. Even if his view of the master was accurate, his actions failed to line up with his views. Also, his story was so very wrong. While he waxed eloquently among his peers, holding them spell-bound in his hands, the master cut through smoke calling him out for what he was: slothful and evil. Having bought into the wrong story, the end result was devastating. And where were his those friends now who validated his words so many times?
Everyone has a story. We spin it. We tell it. We sell it. As the words flow from our lips the rationale we use sounds right. Our friends nod in agreement as they endorse our words. The more we tell our story, the more we believe our words and the more it begins to shape our lives. But when the story distorts God by villainizing him, or the story shapes the teller into the hero by justifying pride, arrogance or sinful behavior then the story needs to come to an end. For, just because everyone has a story doesn’t mean it’s a story worth telling.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)
Thanksgiving Memories
The Church & The Pandemic
The Missing Piece of the Puzzle to Our Own Self-Awareness
The Psalmist cries out to God by making a bold and daring plea. He begs him to search his heart, to try him by putting him to the test. He calls for God to know his own motives, whether they are true of false (Ps. 139:23-24). Such a request, if honest to its core, exposes the person before God. Such a petition not only bears oneself to God, but to his/her own self as well.
The ability to evaluate ourselves, opening and honestly, is a skill underdeveloped in so many. Are we really in touch with our own feelings, motives and agendas? Probably not. We hide them. We cover them up. We shield them from attacks. Defensively, we divert attention from ourselves by finger pointing at others. Self-awareness is not one of our best qualities.
At the end of the Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5-7), Jesus shares a judgment scene with his listeners. Many on that day will believe they’re in step with God’s will since they prophesied, drove out demons and performed multiple miracles. Yet, God will claim he never knew them, casting them out by labeling them as “evil doers” (Mt. 7:21-23). The tension between what these people were doing versus who they were is felt like the buzz sensation of touching a hot wire. How could one be so right and so wrong at the same time? A lack of self-awareness may be the key.
As if Matthew 7 was foreshadowing a second judgment scene, Jesus depicts this one in chapter 25 with a twist. Here he divides everyone into two groups. The group he calls “sheep” are the ones who responded to his needs when they encountered him, while the one he calls “goats” ignored his plight. While neither group recognized his presence, for surely if we saw Jesus they’d (or we’d) respond to his needs, Jesus said, “Whatever you did for the least of these you did for me” (Mt. 25:40,45). While the so-called “sheep” and the “goats” were unaware of the spiritual ramifications for their actions or lack thereof, their response to the needs before them is rooted in their own self-awareness. One group was willing to think of those living without and to try and fill those needs, while the others only selfishly thought of themselves. They were blinded by and unaware of their own self-centeredness.
We have an impression of ourselves, which doesn’t always line up with how others view us and rarely lines up with God’s perception of us. Time and time again, the Scripture calls for introspection and to become aware of our own self. Jesus tells about the two men who went up to the temple to pray (Lk. 18:9-14). One was very aware of his sin, while the other’s self-awareness was almost nil. When Peter boldly proclaimed that he’d go to the cross with Jesus, his own lack of self-awareness was confronted by Jesus’ prophecy of denying him that very night (Lk. 22:33-34). The rub of the Pharisees and teachers of the law (Lk. 15:1) that Jesus’ was willingly welcoming and eating with the “sinners” demonstrates how they lack such self-awareness (i.e. were they themselves without sin?).
We see it today. A piece of the puzzle is missing, and everyone notices except the person with the puzzle. Spoken words and body language convey either arrogance and pride or self-pity. We attack other positions and territory with fierceness while glossing over or ignoring our very own positions and territory. We cut in line. We’re rude to the waitress. We refuse to comply with simple instructions all while losing respect from our peers. And only God knows what goes through his mind.
On more than one occasion I have spoken to my children, and even to Cile, in harsh tones. While I thought I was simply communicating information, before Cile interrupts me to simply ask, “Can you hear the tone of your voice right now?” The fact is, I’m very self-unaware of how I carry myself and the messages I send. And the truth be known, so are you.
Scripture speaks to awakening our self-awareness, though not all in one place. Paul tells the Philippians to strip away the pretense by avoiding selfish ambition or vain conceit, and then to consider others better than their-self (Phil. 2:3). James tells us that we have two ears and one mouth for a reason (Jas. 1:19-20), so try doing more active listening (to understand) and less talking (to make others understand). Jesus warns about adopting the pagan/Gentile form of leadership which is to exercise power and authority over people (Mk. 10:42). Instead, he tells us to serve the ones “below us,” for Jesus modeled such behavior even willing to give up his own life (Mk. 10:43-45).
Self-awareness may very well be a spiritual trait. The ability to view one’s self with a proper and biblical perspective shows maturity, the kind of which God honors. And ultimately, only God’s perspective matters, which is something to be self-aware of.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)
Despair: Feeling the Sentence of Death
Despair can lead a person to dark places, to a deep hole cut off from daylight and feeling the warmth of the sun. In its chilly, damp pit hope is lost. And some who find themselves in such a place feel abandoned as death is a welcomed alternative to living.
Sometimes we find ourselves in despair and without hope because we’re susceptible to anxiety and depression. Many of us fight those battles on a regular basis, and in battle fatigue our inner self cry out from the pit. Other times we find ourselves disoriented because circumstances beyond our control rip apart our world. We thought we were in control of our own destiny until “destiny” took control of us. A job loss, a diagnosed illness, a betrayal of a friend, a pandemic. Any of these, and more, can strip away hope, layer by layer, leaving you in the depths of despair.
While we suffer, we tell ourselves that those who are more spiritual and are grounded firmly in faith never had to endure what the common folk endure. They’re immune. They’re exempt from suffering. The spiritual waters run so deep that pain never penetrates those fathoms. Or maybe their pedestal stands above the agony.
Enter the Apostle Paul, maybe one of the most important leaders of the early church. Because most of his letters survived, he has shaped so much of the church’s belief system (i.e., theology). Because he’s an apostle who received visions from Jesus and planted churches all over the Mediterranean, we’ve glossed over much of who he really was. And what was he? He was a wounded warrior, just like us.
When God called him, he wanted Paul to know that his calling meant suffering for the name of Jesus (Act. 9:16). Not just a little suffering, but enough to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Paul’s affliction list in 2 Corinthians 11 is more than a simple list of what he’s endured. He wears his suffering proudly against those who are shamed for what they never endure. Its evidence that he’s nothing more than a broken clay pot held together by the grace and mercy of God (2 Cor. 4:7-12; 12:7-10). God does not reject Paul because he suffers. No. He embraces Paul through his suffering.
Held together by God doesn’t exempt an apostle from feelings of despair. Thus, Paul informs the Corinthians of what unfolded while he was in Asia. While he avoids the details, he’s specific about his emotions. He endured hardship and suffered. The pressure was so great that he despaired even of life (2 Cor. 1:8-9). Whatever Paul was facing, the burden was so excessive he wanted out. Like an inmate on death row, he lost all his appeals.
But God. But God who raises the dead. But God who raises the dead delivered him from his own death (2 Cor. 1:9-10). God delivered again, and he delivered big. And Paul interpreted this salvation as a reminder to stop relying on our self and keep relying on God (2 Cor. 1:9b). Coming full circle, not only is the Apostle Paul facing suffering, but his ministry is defined by suffering, even though he nearly buckled under the pressure. In part, because even Paul, like us, tended to trust his own abilities rather than trust God.
So here we are, for many of us, sitting in the midst of despair. It’s a dark place, so dark that daylight and the warmth of the sun cannot penetrate where you sit. And you feel alone. All alone. Chilled in a damp hole. Maybe you find yourself in the pit because life throws every dirty play against you. Or maybe you find yourself in the pit because a pandemic has inflamed your worst fears. An uncontrollable disease has the power to undermine an economy (i.e., your economy) while fueling more civil unrest.
Sure, we could give up and walk away. Others have done it. But we won’t. And instead of leaning into it, we take Paul’s advice and lean onto him. While we’re sitting in the pit, we keep relying and trusting God. We trust the God who raises the dead, because what else have you to do anyway?
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)
A Calming Presence
CHURCH: The Gates of Hades
Peter’s confession of Jesus is a pivotal moment in Matthew’s gospel (Mt. 16:13-20). Prior to the confession, Jesus was tight lipped about his mission. After Peter’s declaration statement, Jesus begins opening up about his suffering and death at the hands of the Jewish religious leaders. Peter’s confession is essential to understanding Jesus’ mission.
Jesus and the twelve find themselves in Gentile territory, named after Augustus Caesar and originally named for the god, Pan. By the time of Jesus, the area retained its tribute name to Caesar but Philip of Macedon is given nod as well. Our Bibles says they were in Caesarea Philippi. Here, in a culture committed to Roman rule and paganism, Jesus pins his twelve disciples down on his identity. Peter’s response, speaking for the others and hopefully for us, is clear and decisive. “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (16:16).
Two statements emerge from Peter’s confession. First, he calls Jesus the Christ. The Greek version of the Hebrew word, Messiah, which carries far more punch. Messiah means, “the Anointed One,” and the Messianic overtones are obvious. Jesus is the coming Messiah whom Scripture predicted and confirmed. Secondly, he calls Jesus, the Son of God. While the phrase has divine implications, Peter underscores that God is a living God, not dead. Thus, Peter’s confession holds both theological and political ramifications: Jesus is the Divine King, not Caesar.
Beyond his prediction that he is headed to Jerusalem to suffer (16:21), Jesus makes statements that have baffled Bible students and scholars for centuries. What is Peter’s role in the development of the church, and why has he been given the keys of the kingdom? What is the meaning of “church”? Is it an assembly or an organization?
The more important question is his mixing of metaphors in regards to the gate (16:18), “. . . and the gates of Hades/hell will not overcome it.” Gates are for defensive purposes and do not for attacking. They mark off territorial boundaries. They intimidate their opponent, stand still and cannot move. How will gates even try to “overcome” God’s church? Also, are these the gates of Hades (NIV) or the gates of hell (KJV)? While Hades was the place of the dead with no evil intent, hell is always associated with a place to punish evil doers. The NIV maintains the Greek, while the KJV interprets Hades as a place of evil. But the “place of the dead” or a “place of death” contextually seems better to understand Matthew 16:18 than a place where evil is punished. The NIV is probably correct with “Hades” because the theme of death begins to unfold.
For the first time in Matthew’s gospel Jesus explicitly tells his twelve disciples about his forthcoming suffering and death in Jerusalem (16:21). When that happens, the story looks to end and the movement will die. Without its shepherd, the people will scatter like sheep. But death will not be the final say with Jesus. He will overcome. While the tomb will be sealed, he’ll break that seal and the stone will roll away. Death will not hold him captive.
As the disciples move forward in a post-ascension world, they will face their own suffering, and each of them, minus John, will be horrifically executed for following Jesus. The church itself will endure the full onslaught of persecution. “Murderous threats” (Act. 9:1) not only sounds ominous, but accurately describe what discipleship meant. The exhortation, “be faithful till death” (Rev. 2:10b) wasn’t a warm fuzzy motto or cheesy bumper sticker, but a stark reminder of the total cost of confessing, “Jesus is Lord.”
Death has a way of not only disrupting our lives, but also disrupting our churches. When someone dies, even of “natural causes,” we question the church’s future and stability. How will we survive without them? How do we move forward without them? In a context of persecution, lives are on the line. Increased anxiety is felt like a 7.5 tremor on the Richter scale. Jesus’ words assure his followers that death will not be the final say in the church’s future. And in a time when so much uncertainty has gripped people in fear, Jesus’ words bring reassurance. Not even the gates of death will overcome his church.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)