A real hope for racial equality

15 01 2017

In light of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I write out of my burden for our wounded nation. For my African-American friends who I believe when they tell me of their experiences with institutional racism, and for those in the privileged class who are prone to hear but not listen, look but not perceive the plight of so many of our fellow citizens.  So I write briefly to hopefully add light and a challenge:

1. “Racial equality” will never happen across the United States.

2. Cultural and economic interdependence is embedded in the true church.

Let me seek to prove these statements:

First, “Racial equality” will never happen across the United States.

Dr. King, who is a person in American history I deeply admire, invoked Biblical themes in his blend of Christian ministry and social action. One only need read the brilliant and beautiful “I have a dream” speech to hear the echoes of the prophet Isaiah (in chapter 40) who foresaw mountains being leveled and valleys lifted. Isaiah’s forecast referred to making a highway for a visiting king, the Lord.

That hints at the reason I say racial equality will never happen across the U.S., because America is not equivalent to the people of God. I wish it were different, but a secular state like America can never muster the selflessness and compassion needed to bring racial equality. As much as I believe that the sacred and the spiritual should not be separated, this is one case where the distinction is necessary. 

The greed, love of power, clinging to comfort and privilege are too embedded in our secular country to expect that which only a sacred people can effect. Government will not bring equality. A movement of citizens will not bring justice.  This leads to a word of hope.

Second, Cultural and economic interdependence is embedded in the true church.

I have sought to choose my words carefully. When I say that racial equality will never happen “across the United States,” I refer to the kind of broad scale transformation which some seem to demand when they speak of America changing completely. Evil forces which divide and destroy will not let this happen.

However, the true church of Jesus Christ offers hope of supplying enclaves of interdependence between people of all ethnicites, cultures, and social standings. Many scriptures support this truth, and I will here cite just one. The Apostle Paul writes about the “body of Christ,” i.e. all those, everywhere, who have placed their faith in the saving work of Christ alone (His sacrificial death, His burial, and His bodily resurrection). In calling this massive host of people a “body,” Paul says that we are inseparable from one another and cannot live out our purpose without each other. We are spiritually and practically interdependent.

The chapter containing this teaching (1 Corinthians 12) primarily refers to the interdependence of Christians with regard to “spiritual gifts” such as teaching, healing, and administration. But there is a reference to social issues embedded in this teaching that is easily overlooked and therefore ignored:

“For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body–whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free–and have all been made to drink into one Spirit.” (1 Cor. 12:13 New King James Version)

All genuine believers in Jesus Christ, no matter what their descent or language, whether they are privileged or trapped in cycles of obligatory service, are dependent on each other. The love of Christ, and our love for Christ, is expected by the sacred writings to so dominate our way of life that the divisiveness of society is eradicated by the oneness of our faith. Conformity to the character of Jesus is to create in His followers a “new man” that reflects Him (Col. 3:10-11).

I do not say that it is pointless to work for justice and equality in society at large.  My plea is that we who truly know Christ intentionally demonstrate that the only true way to bring hope to the hopeless and strength to the weak is by realizing our interdependence on each other in the body of Christ. We are incomplete without each other. The new community in Christ can only reflect Christ when we intentionally love those whom the world expects us to hate.

Photocredit: WPImageSmart





How does a rich man repent?

3 01 2017

Recently I heard a sermon about John the Baptist and his call to repentance as a way to prepare for the coming of King Jesus. The preacher exhorted each of us to consider ways we should repent (i.e. turn around). The church was located in an affluent area, and the congregants reflect the lifestyle of the financially prosperous.

After the service let out, I was in the parking lot talking to my hosts, when another attendee walked past and engaged in conversation. He said he was soon to drive his motor home to Palm Springs to stay for some weeks, after which he would drive up along the California coast visiting beautiful cities along the way.

In these instances, we who have spent years in poorer countries or neighborhoods are often challenged with a private, parallel conversation. For me it could be summarized as, “What would one of my simple village pastors from Africa think if he had heard that sermon on repentance, and now stood in this conversation in the parking lot?” (Note: I include the descriptor “village” because some city pastors and elders in African cities are economically more akin to the American RV owner than their village compatriots.)

I had the same internal conversation on a walk during the recent Christmas season. I passed through a neighborhood of multi-level homes which cost hundreds of thousands to build. In the driveway sat at least one glimmering SUV, and on the lawn a “creche” depicting the humble birth of Jesus. Again, I wondered if a Christian from the developing world would view that scene as a bewildering contradiction.

How does a rich man repent?

I think of the rich young ruler who engaged Jesus with the question of  his salvation. Since the man was keeping the Mosaic Law, Jesus finally told him to sell all he had and give to the poor. The young man went away sad because he had many possessions.

Did Jesus want the young entrepreneur to give everything away so as to join the ranks of the poor? I think not. But the Lord saw that the man loved his possessions, which was an impediment to discipleship. Paul wrote along this line when he said that the love of money is the root of all evil. If I love my money, I need to repent. But how do I know when I have stopped stewarding my money righteously and come to love my money? If such love is actually covetousness, idolatry, possessiveness, or a source of pride, then no one knows if I need to repent other than God and me — and I am well able to deceive myself.

I begin to see that the African villager cannot really know how the rich American should repent, any more than the rich American can really know how the African should repent. But I am sure each would receive insight on the matter, to their benefit, if they spent some hours together reading God’s word and praying!

A young Christian family, living in the same metro area as the wealthy RV owner, formerly wanted to buy a larger home. But they intentionally decided to live simply in their current house. Dad takes the shuttle train to work, when he could drive his own car. A rich young family is seeking to live a lifestyle of repentance.

I heard of a Christian church that has decided to rent a central space accessible to all, rather than build their own building in the suburbs; this way they are able to put more funds into mission and outreach to the community. A rich young church seeks an attitude of repentance.

Repentance is a matter of the heart. If I am a hypocrite in my heart, I must deal with the fact that the Holy Spirit lives there too. A man with less money can actually love his money more, even as a man with more money can love it less. Are both of them ready to give their money away freely, as managers of God’s resources?

Repentance is a matter of my time, place, and circumstance. Another person cannot know my context, and therefore cannot rightly judge what I should do. But neither should I judge what another man does, or does not do. Maybe that is why community is so important, for people who share the same context can observe and speak forthrightly into each others lives.

“If my people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land” (2 Chron. 7:14, NKJV).


Photos:  WP ImageSmart/Pixabay

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The gift of fragrance that lingers

15 10 2015

In my daily reading of the Bible, I came unsuspectingly upon the story of the woman and her perfume. I say unsuspectingly because I did not foresee the depth which her example would carve out in my soul.

anointing oilYou recall the incident. Jesus was in the village of Bethany staying in the home of a man named Simon who had contracted leprosy. That’s a significant side story in and of itself. Anyway, the woman (Mary, according to John 12:3) came to Jesus holding a flask made of alabaster stone, opened it up and respectfully anointed Jesus’ head and feet with very costly ointment (spikenard). At the time Jesus was sitting at the table, and He clearly understood what and why the woman was doing this.

She was already mourning His death.

But the disciples didn’t get it. They calculated the monetary value of the perfume, and were indignant at such a waste. Their idea was that poor people would have appreciated a donation of food and clothing — a much more useful purpose than perfuming a man, even their Master.

It is an understatement to say that Jesus had the gift of discernment. He knew what His disciples were reasoning, and gave them another perspective. Bear in mind, this incident happened on the eve of the crucifixion. So Jesus gave His guys a bit of a lecture, and you know the woman was standing right there wondering if she had done the wrong thing. Jesus said that helping the poor was noble, but that the poor would always be there to receive help. Different, though, was the opportunity to do something kind for Jesus the Christ. Then came the clincher,

“For in pouring this fragrant oil on My body, she did it for My burial. Assuredly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be told as a memorial to her” (Matt. 26:12-13).

I was never able to buy really expensive perfume for my wife, but I do know that the fragrance of expensive perfume lasts much longer than cheaper varieties. With that in mind, consider that the rich fragrance on Jesus’ head and feet must have lingered throughout the night, into the next horrible day, even into the tomb. As He sat with His disciples in the upper room and celebrated His final meal with them, He filled the room with His fragrance. The Lord’s table carried the aroma of burial.

When Jesus led them in a melodic psalm and took them to Gethsemane, the sweat of blood intermingled on His skin with the woman’s ointment. The high priest who judged Him, Pilate who condemned Him, Peter who denied Him, Judas who betrayed Him, the soldiers who pierced Him — all caught the scent of one woman’s worship.

I do not know exactly how to bring the import of all of this over to you. It is a profound and chaotic picture. Jesus and His band of followers having their meal in the home of an untouchable man. The practical ministry need of poverty clashing with the impractical “waste” of a worshipper. And the contrast between Jesus’ awareness of His impending ordeal and the significance of the woman’s kindness — perhaps her sacrificial spirit reminding Him of the sacrifice required of Him — contrasted with the disciple’s ignorance (which we often share) of death, burial and resurrection happening in our very own experience.

My daughters and I received an unexpected package one day. Opening it we discovered an array of tiny bottles containing different essential oils, sent us by my niece, Alison. I had not known about these fragrant oils before, nor of their expense and usefulness. I was intrigued that one of them was frankincense. So we began exploring the world of essential oils.

This is very poignant to me because the reason Alison so kindly shared these oils with us is because my two daughters, my son, and I were providing hospice care for my wife who lay in the next room of our home with terminal cancer. It was an unexpected treat to be able to apply those healing fragrances on my wife’s wrist or back. We ministered comfort to her. She felt special. Pampered.

A few days later Lyn died in our home and went to be with Jesus. We washed her body and again applied fragrance to her skin, and dressed her in clean clothes. We said goodbye. We wept.

As you follow Jesus, you answer His call to deny yourself and take up His cross. You surrender to God’s will. You endure times of loss, grief, and waiting — all reminiscent of burial. I wonder, in going through these renditions of Jesus’ life and death, could we bring His fragrance with us? Could we become purveyors of the essence of Jesus — an aroma of life to life, or death to death (2 Cor. 2:14-16)?

There is a need for practical frugality. Bless the disciples for their compassion. But deeper still is that whisper of the Father, into our souls, to lavish what is costly on the Son He loves so dearly.

I must pause today and reflect on what I may offer Him. I must slow down, sit in silence for awhile, and let the Holy Spirit show me how extravagant worship must linger in the air no matter where Jesus leads me.





Am I Following a Faux Jesus?

31 03 2012

Awhile ago a friend of mine said something to me that, while not new, struck me in a freshly painful way–that if Jesus came and ministered among us today we would likely crucify Him again. Think about it. Would He seem so heretical–would we protect our doctrine, our “law”–would He join the “wrong side” of the political divide? Would He appear so worldly that we would see Him as compromising truth and therefore an impostor? Would His style be so plebeian, so poor and socially unacceptable? Would He be homeless and uncouth, such that we would ostracize Him as a weirdo? Would He stink up our nice sanctuaries, soiling the theater seats? We wouldn’t “crucify” Him literally, but we’d do so creatively by side-lining His impact.

Here’s what we would do–we’d divide like cells. Jesus would become Head of the unseemly part of the body, and we up here would appoint a co-head to lead us. This co-head would not be a human, for that would be heresy. No, he would be an imaginary Jesus, crafted according to our own liking. This compatible co-head would never speak disparagingly of the real Jesus. In fact, we would have selective quotes from Jesus Himself which we would put in the mouth of our preferred Jesus. Occasionally we would bring the two together over a sermon, but for the most part the two Lords wouldn’t get along too well.

Crucifixion would amount to stealing away part of Christ’s body and attaching those parts to a socially acceptable impostor. It would surprise the impostor-followers to realize that the real Jesus doesn’t know them, for in fact they don’t actually know Him. This is a grand deception, especially since these two messiah’s aren’t distinctly seen–they are look-alikes. But, no one can serve two masters, so someone needs to start paying attention to this huge misunderstanding. Someone needs to find out who the true messiah is and work every day to follow Him. Someone needs to recognize the slight of hand going on and face up to the real Jesus.

I’m afraid such a confrontation with reality might happen something like this. A knock would come at my door right at supper time. I answer and the real Jesus is standing there looking nothing at all like my rendition of Him. Suffice it to say He didn’t step out of a painting. Instead, He looks like He just walked 24 miles from inner city Seattle where He’s been in a homeless shelter for quite awhile. The worst happens. He asks if He can come in for supper. Every inch of me screams “No” inside. So I make up some partially true reason why it is really a bad night for visitors but another time would be okay.

But let’s say I didn’t do what I really did, and He is sitting at our dinner table. And let’s imagine I didn’t actually find a convincing reason that He couldn’t stay overnight. Suppose I got through to the next morning with the real Jesus Christ. How might He threaten me so severely that I would mentally check out on Him, that I would step back and decide that I needed to stick with my impostor Jesus? I think it could well happen if He told me to have some of my neighbors over for dinner this weekend–especially the ones who nobody really likes or talks to, or the ones who haven’t mowed their lawn all summer, or those who are black and play loud rap music. I could quietly switch Lords over something like that. Or if He started to get nosy about my finances. If He said I ought to sell my house and live by faith, I’m pretty sure I’d reason inside that He is out of touch with the need for equity as one moves into retirement age. After all He died at age 33 in a society without banks and insurance. What could He possibly understand about financial security these days?

If Jesus invited a bunch of seedy people over to my house–like street-walkers or meth users–that would force me to switch. If He tried to get me to visit homeless shelters, old people’s homes–or if He felt taxes should be raised in order to increase welfare, which is already inefficient and abused. If He came to church and told me I am hanging around in social isolation with people who knowingly seal themselves off from others who make them uncomfortable–even though they say they don’t–this would make it easy to change to a faux master.

No, I wouldn’t put Jesus back on a cross–that was the method of a barbaric time. I would put Him away more subtly; I’d create an alternate reality–sort of like  the evolutionists theory. I’d want so badly for it to be true, I’d piece together evidence to prove it. I’d ignore the gaps of logic I couldn’t explain and live by tenacious faith in the messiah I so longed to be real.

All of this brings things into really sharp focus: Someone needs to be crucified again and it isn’t the real Jesus. It’s me.