limitless grace: a sermon from matthew 18

I’ll be playing some catch-up this week, posting a few sermons I’ve gotten to preach in the last few months—which has been an absolute joy!  All of them will be edited down from full sermon to blog post, but hopefully the points will hold ;)

This one I preached in September to a small church of lovely people in Richfield, Utah.  The text was Matthew 18:21-35, which I (highly) suggest you read here.    

*****

In chapter 18, Matthew tells the story of Jesus having a conversation with his disciples about what the Kingdom of Heaven is like, and more specifically about what it means to be in relationship with other believers.  When Peter asks the question, “How many times should I forgive someone who keeps sinning against me, Jesus?  Up to seven times?” I don’t think he got the answer he was expecting.  Peter thought he was being generous.  Jesus tells him he doesn’t get it. 

“Not just seven times, but seventy-seven times.  The number isn’t what matters.  Your capacity to forgive must be limitless.  And not only that, but the consequences of not forgiving are pretty severe.”

The parable Jesus then tells—the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant—is one that I’ve struggled with a lot, not only because forgiveness is hard, but because it seems to end with a God who is ready to give us up to torture if we fail.  I don’t happen to have anyone who owes me money like the wicked servant did (that I know of), but there are people that I have struggled to forgive.  I start to ask…

Aren’t I owed an apology before I forgive someone?
Is it fair to let someone off the hook who has hurt me so many times? 
And what if I can’t do it?  What if I fail?
Will God cast me aside if I don’t have it within me to forgive?

I think the bad news is that, by ourselves, we can’t forgive.  We will always fail. 

In the Reformed tradition, we call our situation “total depravity.”  It means that without God, there is nothing in us that is not mired in sin.  It means that out of our own capacity, there is no way we can forgive as many times as is necessary—if even at all.  It is part of our own debt that we are broken and fallible human beings.   And Jesus points out exactly that in this parable.

The wicked slave owed the king 10,000 talents.  A gold talent was the most valuable coin in the Roman empire.  If a laborer or slave worked for an entire day, they would only make a coin called a denarius.  A gold talent was worth 6,000 denarii.  That means it would take that slave more than 15 years to make the equivalent of one gold talent.  And this slave owed the king 10,000 of them!  It’s more than he could make in thousands of lifetimes.  It is an unpayable debt.   It would have cost him his life.

We are in a situation where no matter how hard we work, no matter how many times we try to forgive, it will never be enough to pay off what we owe to God.

Thankfully, the parable comes with some good news first.  It doesn’t start with the king condemning the wicked slave for not showing mercy.  It starts with the king taking pity on his slave and forgiving those lifetimes worth of debt.  The good news—the news, Jesus says, that the entire Kingdom of Heaven is built on—is that God acted first.  God looked at the magnitude of our sin… our total depravity… and in the face of limitless debt, God showed us limitless grace. 

As Jesus is sitting here talking with his disciples, they don’t yet understand what that will cost… but we do.  To forgive us that debt, and to make it possible for us to have restored relationships with God and other people, Jesus paid that price with his own life.  It is a free gift of grace. That’s why when the king condemns the unforgiving slave he says, “Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave as I had mercy on you?”  It is only in the fact that we are already forgiven that we are able to forgive others. 

Paul knows this, too, when he’s writing to the church in Ephesus.  He says:

“Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption. Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.” (4:30-32)

And again, in Colossians (3:13):

“Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” 

God doesn’t expect that we can do it alone—in fact, he knows that we can’t; that’s why he stepped in to make it possible.  In dying on the cross, Jesus became both the model and the means by which we are able to forgive. 

You must forgive your brother and sister from your heart, Jesus says—sincerely and completely.  This isn’t what I want to do.  But if Jesus paid my debt… he paid theirs too.  Who am I to hold onto it? 

That doesn’t make it easy.  The pain that other people cause us is still very real.  But it’s still only a few hundred denarii in the face of ten thousand talents.  It’s worth letting go so Christ can heal us and make us whole. 

I don’t know who’s on your list to forgive.  I don’t know if the ink is fresh, or if it’s been dry for a long time.  Maybe this parable feels like a comfort, or maybe it feels like a warning.  But at the end of the day, if we choose to hold on to someone else’s debt to us, we exclude ourselves from the kingdom of heaven… because in the kingdom of heaven, there are no debts.  They’ve all been paid.  It is marked only by limitless grace.  Thank you, God, for that. 

how I'm like my dog: I worry and I want things

This is our dog, Lucy.

Isn’t she adorable?  She’s a Chihuahua-mix that we rescued in 2018.  And this is what she does when she wants her belly rubbed… which is most of the time.  When we start and then stop, she paws at the air for more. She lets Matt and I hold her in our arms like a baby.  She loves to give kisses and smile and curl up between us on the bed.  And consequently, I think she’s the softest, sweetest puppy there is.  

Lucy also has severe anxieties.  We’ve taken her to trainers and vets, and she’s making slow improvements, but she still experiences “fear aggression” around new people and other dogs.  A strange knock on the door sends her into a frenzied panic – Who is it?!  What do you want?!  Why are you here?!  Worry!  Fear!  Self-preservation!  She barks and we silently (or not so silently) swear… and then spend several minutes trying to calm her down.  This part is maddening.

I am truly amazed at the range of love and frustration I can feel for this tiny creature on any given day.  

I actually talked about Lucy’s anxiety once in a sermon I gave in grad school.  It was on Psalm 46:10, where God says, “Be still, and know that I am God!”  I wondered if the desperate desire I have for Lucy to settle down and trust that I have things under control and that she will be fine is how God feels about me on a regular basis.  And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that that’s true.  Turns out I might be just like my dog. 

I’m a lot more needy and helpless than I like to admit.  I crave security and belonging.  I want to be hugged and loved and taken care of.  And especially in this season—both communally, as we’re in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, and personally, as Matt and I are in limbo looking for jobs—I worry a lot about what’s coming next and what our future holds.  I want to sit patiently in God’s lap, and I also panic at the absence of so many answers.

Obviously, there are some major issues with the metaphor here: 

1. I know my “belovedness” to God is far deeper and more unconditional than anything I could feel for a dog (even a cute one),
2. I’d like to think my big concerns are more aligned with living a Christ-centered life than just panicking at whoever walks in the front door, and
3. I don’t believe that God ever wants to secretly drop-kick me across the room like a fuzzy football when I’m throwing a fit.    

But case in point:  we’ve been living in Ellensburg for a year now.  We moved into my parents’ house after we sold our condo in Seattle and wrapped up most of our classes at Fuller and SPU.  We planned on staying for six months and building a tiny house.  Long story short, God had other plans for us.  No tiny house yet, no kids yet, and no jobs yet.  And through it all, I am like Lucy:  simultaneously relishing this safe, restful space and frantic to ward off all major fears and future concerns.

I worry about wasting time and where we’ll move and when we’ll have kids. 

I worry about getting sick and paying bills and how long it’ll be before I can start my chaplaincy internship and be eligible for ordination. 

I want peace of mind and stability, but also novelty and meaning. 

It all feels messy and disorganized and out of my control. 

Ironically (providentially?), I just read Matthew 6 the other morning where Jesus tells the crowds:  “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? … Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring enough worries of its own.  Today’s trouble is enough for today.”  It’s a hard pill to swallow, and I pray for it to be true in my life.

This isn’t a post where I wrap up with simple answers, though.  I do believe that sanctification in Christ means moving toward greater trust and assurance, but I still feel a daily oscillation between “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” (Phil. 4:7) and “How long, O Lord!?” (Ps. 13:1). 

I don't know what's coming next, or when.  I hate having to sit in what feels like liminal space.  But if there's anything this season has taught me, it's that sometimes life's lemons come at you quicker than a frightened Chihuahua off the living room couch and you just can't predict what comes next.  Maybe for now it's enough to look at myself like I do at Lucy:  with a small shake of the head, but a whole lot of love and grace, realizing that I've got a long way to go but I'm well taken care of and somehow... it'll all be okay in the end.  (And if it's not okay, it's not the end.)

a decade in print: top 10 from the 2010s

As I was finishing up my “Top 10 Reads of 2019” post, Matt suggested that I should do a favorites list from the whole decade—just for fun, of course (he knows me so well).

Typically, one might expect it would be difficult to even remember all the books they’ve read in the last 10 years… but being the type of person who loves both reading and keeping lists of things, I started writing down—in both chronological and alphabetical order—all the books I’d ever finished starting in 2009!  A bit embarrassing actually, but the nerd in me secretly relishes having this gargantuan list of books to look back on (exactly 270 of them, to be precise).

Long story short, these are some of my favorite reads of all time.  Please enjoy!

1.  The Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling

“Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.”

I read these when I was a kid and over again as an adult… still just as good.  They probably don’t need a lot of intro or explanation other than to say that while the movies are phenomenal, the books are still reams better.  Read them if you haven’t yet!  They’re quick and delightful and will make you want a real life grown-up wand and an invisibility cloak to match.  Also, if it seems like cheating to pick a whole series for a Top 10 list… well, too bad, it’s my list and you can make your own ;)

2.  The Lord of the Rings trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien

“…all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

For similar reasons, I couldn’t not put these on the list.  LOTR will be one of my favorite book and movie series of all time for as long as I live.  I’m a huge fantasy geek and I think Tolkien was brilliant (The Hobbit is wonderful as well).  Again, these are great to read even if you’ve seen the movies.  Thoughtful, entertaining, imaginative… sometimes going on an epic other-worldly adventure is just what you need after a few days in the real world, amiright?

3.  The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho

“Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure.”

I’ve read The Alchemist three times, and each time I’ve like it better than the last.  It’s about a shepherd boy from Andalusia, Spain who goes in search of a great treasure he believes lies buried near the Pyramids in Egypt.  Throughout his journey he encounters remarkable friends and ideas that point him in a direction he least expects.  Though not a Christian novel, Coehlo utilizes Biblical concepts and undertones that give an incredible depth to the story.  It scratches at the meanings of life hidden under the surface of our everyday experience.    

4.  The Story of God, the Story of Us, by Sean Gladding

“Life is hard.  We know that.  And that is why we must tell each other the Story, and keep telling it, to do exactly what God has continually told us to do:  remember… remember… remember.”

I know few people who have read the Bible the entire way through (though I would recommend that, too, if you have a chance!).  But in this book, Sean Gladding reminds us of the way Biblical stories used to be told—over a campfire or around a table, where family and friends share their shared heritage with one another.  He tells the over-arching story of the Bible from the eyes of those who lived it, whether in the Babylonian exile or in small house churches in the Roman Empire.  It is a well-written, highly accessible narrative of the whole story:  the story of God and of the people who continue to encounter Him.    

5.  The Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning

“My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.”

This is one of those books that came at just the right time in my life.  Brennan Manning, a recovering alcoholic and former Franciscan priest, writes in a way that brims with vulnerability and grace.  He shares his experiences and reflections on what he sees as the true gospel of Jesus:  that God is not in the business of tallying our successes and failures, but is constantly reaching out with “furious love” to all of us struggling “ragamuffins” who continue to need his help despite our best efforts.

6.  The Me I Want to Be, by John Ortberg

“The main measure of your devotion to God is not your devotional life. It is simply your life.”

This book found me shortly after college, as I was just starting in ministry and learning what it means to be an adult out on my own.  I read it with a beloved mentor of mine, and it helped me process who I am rather than who I felt I was supposed to be.  Turns out it’s pretty scary and vulnerable to shed the façade of being a “good Christian” in favor of surrendering ourselves to the One who makes us fully human.  I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but Ortberg gives his readers plenty of insight into God’s love and encouragement to keep trying. 

7.  The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis

“There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says, in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’  All that are in Hell, choose it.  Without that self-choice there could be no Hell.  No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it.  Those who seek find.  To those who knock it is opened.”

This book is C.S. Lewis’s fictional story of a man who travels on a bus from Hell to Heaven, and discovers their distinction in the process.  In characteristic Lewis style, it is a clever and theologically weighty narrative that portrays Hell as “locked from the inside” by those who wish to keep themselves separated from God and others, while those in Heaven encounter what is really real—the fullness of joy and light and becoming.  The characters are sharp, the imagery is beautiful, and the implications are meant to be wrestled with for a long time. 

8.  Why Marriages Succeed or Fail: and How You Can Make Yours Last, by John Gottman

“If there is one lesson I have learned from my years of research it is that a lasting marriage results from a couple’s ability to resolve the conflicts that are inevitable in any relationship.”

Matt and I read this book in our second year of marriage, and we’ve recommended it to many, many other couples since.  It’s been the most helpful and rewarding of all the books on marriage that we’ve read thus far—primarily because it deals with how couples engage in conflict.  Gottman, who has done 20+ years of research on marital intimacy and longevity, helps his readers identify their “conflict style”—from avoidant to validating to volatile—noting that any of these can be healthy so long as the couple maintains a 5:1 ratio of positive to negative interactions.  He also explains the behaviors and assumptions that can lead to disaster over time.  Well worth the read even if you’ve been married for years, and especially if you’ve just tied the knot!     

9.  The Nightingale, by Kristin Hannah   

“Men tell stories… women get on with it.  For us it was a shadow war.  There were no parades for us when it was over, no medals or mentions in history books.  We did what we had to during the war, and when it was over, we picked up the pieces and started our lives over.”

This one is a repeat from my “Top 10” of 2018 (posted here), so I won’t go into much more detail.  Suffice it to say the story has left a lasting impression on me, and I’m grateful to have been given a glimpse (albeit a historically fictional one) into the bravery and commitment of women in World War II and the lessons they learned.  Still a page-turner and an all-time favorite.

10.  East of Eden, by John Steinbeck

“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.”

I read Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men back in high school, but hadn’t picked up this classic until a few years ago when it was chosen by our book club.  Consequently, I highly suggest finding a friend or two to read it with because getting to talk about the character complexity and story arc with other people brought out so much more from the book than I would have experienced on my own.  The plot is essentially a modern, multi-generational exploration of the Cain and Abel story from Genesis set in California in the mid-1900s, and it is fascinating.  I underlined in the book, wrote notes and questions in the margins, and loved getting to mull over its intricate themes. 

 

Just making this list made me want to go re-read several of these books all over again.  They’ve stayed on my shelf for that very reason.  If you manage to read (or have already read) any of them, I’d love to hear your thoughts!  And, as always, other recommendations from your own “favorites list” are more than welcome.  Happy reading!

"The more that you read, the more things you will know.  The more that you learn, the more places you'll go."  -Dr. Seuss

top 10 reads of 2019

I know we’re a few weeks past the end of 2019, but I made this “Top 10 Reads” list last year and wanted to make sure to do it again this year—mostly because it’s fun for me to recap!  I made it through 23 books in 2019, so the list was very difficult to narrow down.  It also turned out to be a bit eclectic…

Like last year, three amazing novels made the Top 10—two repeat authors, too (what can I say?  Fredrik Backman and Kristin Hannah have a gift).  I read plenty of others, but there were so many good non-fictions that needed mentioning, I couldn’t pass them up!  Several books came out of the last classes I took for seminary (woo!), so they lean theological, if you’re into that.  The others are life-focused and a bit random.  Two even touch on some “controversial” topics (i.e. sex…), but are worth every minute.    

Again, these are in no particular order and not necessarily published in 2019… it’s just when they made it onto my nightstand.  
Hope you enjoy!

1.  God Over Good: Saving Your Faith by Losing Your Expectations of God, by Luke Norsworthy

“When we relinquish expectations, we can move to acceptance and awareness of the God who doesn’t reside in the box of our expectations, but in all.”

2019 kicked off for me with a book that had been a Christmas gift from a dear friend—and man, was it a solid way to start the year.  As a pastor out of Texas, this was Norsworthy’s first published book [in addition to his weekly podcast called “Newsworthy with Norsworthy”] and it was a smashing success!  As an MDiv student I can get snooty and skeptical about books like this (clearly not my best quality), but the writing was honest, refreshing, and surprisingly funny.  He uses great stories and metaphors to talk about how we approach God and the expectations we put on faith, and how often these lead to disappointment.  I found myself relating a lot to his experiences of doubt, but also in the end, to his embrace of a God who is a whole lot bigger than our expectations. 

2.  American War, by Omar El Akkad

“It seemed sensible to crave safety, to crave shelter from the bombs and the Birds and the daily depravity of war.  But somewhere deep in her mind an idea had begun to fester—perhaps the longing for safety was itself just another kind of violence—a violence of cowardice, silence, submission.  What was safety, anyway, but the sound of a bomb falling on someone else’s home?”

My first novel of the year was an American dystopia set in the latter half of this century.  It was another debut book by a new author, and again so good!  “Haunting” is a word that might best describe the plot and especially the main character, Sarat. 

In the story, the U.S. is in the midst of its Second Civil War—brought on by devastating climate change—and the southern states are rebelling against the ban on oil and the control of a drone-powered northern government.  When Sarat’s father is killed, she and her family are taken to Camp Patience, where she is ultimately radicalized and made into a weapon of war.  The story was slow at points, but always chilling—especially as it reminds you of what can happen when acts of revenge are allowed to continue in perpetuity.  It hits like a warning… a little too close to home for comfort, but worth reading for that exact reason. 

3.  Toughest People to Love: How to Understand, Lead, and Love the Difficult People in Your Life—Including Yourself, by Chuck DeGroat

“I’m convinced that in God’s economy of grace, nothing is wasted—not our failures, not even our biggest sins.”

I wrote a post inspired by this book shortly after I read it (you can read it here), so I won’t go into too much detail.  DeGroat writes most specifically to pastors or those who attempt to lead or love others out of a faith-filled life, but his concepts are applicable to anyone.  He writes very practically about different types of “difficult” people we encounter, how to maintain boundaries, what it means that we’re all children of God, and how we can foster emotional and spiritual health in ourselves.  In essence, he makes the point that we’re each a mess, but that trying for “perfection” is short-changing ourselves from the real fulfillment of compassion and wholeness.

4.  Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith, by Barbara Brown Taylor

“I wanted to recover the kind of faith that has nothing to do with being sure what I believe and everything to do with trusting God to catch me though I am not sure of anything.”

I first heard of Barbara Brown Taylor through her reputation as a phenomenal preacher (I have listened to her sermons—the reputation is well-deserved).  Turns out she is also a wonderful writer.  She has many books that I’m now eager to read, but her memoir was a highlight for me in 2019.  It is the tale of her call to ministry, the struggles of pastoral self-care, growing graciously with God even when it meant hard changes, and settling into the “living practice” of faith.  Her writing style is reminiscent of Barbara Kingsolver, full of transparency, wit, and practical wisdom.  

 

5.  Us Against You, by Fredrik Backman

“The complicated thing about good people and bad people alike is that most of us can be both at the same time.”

I was so excited to read Backman’s sequel to the novel I loved so much last year (Beartown).  And while it’s nearly as good as its predecessor, it’s still miles ahead of most fiction.  Backman has a way of embracing the messy humanity of his characters and fleshing out the grit of local culture, relationships, and loyalties. 

The story starts in the wake of the fallout in Beartown, where some in the community have left for the nearby rival town of Hed.  It follows a family trying to heal, a hockey team threatening to shut down, and the question of whether something can go back to being as simple as “us vs. you” in a game that’s been complicated by politics, money, and severed ties.  You may not relate to the plot or the setting, but you’ll relate to the characters and be all the better for it. 

6.  True Colors, by Kristin Hannah

“…remember we’re sisters.”

In addition to Backman’s novel, I also got to read a second book by Kristin Hannah this year.  It was a perfect summer read.  I was excited to find that it was set on a ranch in Western Washington, complete with horses and wet weather and a family of sisters (as I’ve had a taste of all of those things), and it was yet another (like Us Against You) that felt grounded in its place and its characters.  The story focuses on the three sisters and their relationships with three men in their lives—their father, the “boy next door,” and an unexpected visitor that comes to town and turns their whole lives upside down.    

7.  Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life, by Emily Nagoski

“I wrote this book to share the science, stories, and sex-positive insights that prove to us that, despite our culture’s vested interest in making us feel broken, dysfunctional, unlovely, and unlovable, we are in fact fully capable of confident, joyful sex.”

This is a book written by a woman for other women.  Well, mostly—men can definitely get some helpful insights out of it as well!  But truly, it was an extraordinary read for someone like me who had very little insight about sex until adulthood and is still figuring it out. 

We can be honest here:  the cultural messages women get around sex are pretty shitty.  And, as Nagoski writes, it’s easy to assume that female sexuality is basically “Men’s Sexuality Lite.”  Not so, it turns out.  Matt and I read this book together and discovered lots of things about relationships, how bodies are wired, and what we can do to make our marriage better and more honoring to who each of us is.  

8.  Changing Our Mind, by David P. Gushee

“…in this book I am asking whether the Church should change our mind and our practices in relation to Christian LGBTQ people and their relationships—not because we are under pressure from a hostile culture to do so, but because within the terms of our own faith we might now conclude that this is one of those cases in 2,000 years of Christian history where we have gotten some things wrong.”

David Gushee is a well-respected evangelical ethicist who, at one time, agreed with the historical Christian tradition that says same-sex relationships are considered by God to be sinful.  In this book, he takes readers step-by-step through many of the reasons for this perspective, including the Biblical texts that speak about “homosexuality,” and challenges the literary and contextual assumptions we’ve made in the past.  He also honors the authority of experience, concluding that the Church should—as we did with slavery and anti-Semitism—repent of our historical understanding and treatment of our LGBTQ brothers and sisters, and advocate for their full inclusion in the Church.  Whether or not you agree with Gushee’s conclusions, I would encourage all Christians to read and at least consider what he has to say.   

9.  The End of Apologetics: Christian Witness in a Postmodern Context, by Myron Bradley Penner

“There are times and ways in which a given ‘defense’ of the faith does more harm than good to the cause of Christ.”

1 Peter 3:15 says, “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you.”  For quite a while, giving that defense has meant having all your arguments for God lined up in such a way as to logically overwhelm your doubting opponent.  I’ve actually hated the notion of apologetics (giving an “apology,” or defense of faith) for a long time for that reason—because no one’s heart is changed just because you can out-argue them about the existence of God.  Penner makes the point in this book, though, that arguing to “win” is the exact opposite of apologetics, because the goal of the gospel is never to put anyone else down.  He talks a lot about “truth,” ethics, and defending the faith by actually living it rather than being able to talk about it like an expert.

10.  And Baby Makes Three: The Six-Step Plan for Preserving Marital Intimacy and Rekindling Romance After Baby Arrives, by John and Julie Gottman

“The greatest gift you can give your baby is a happy and strong relationship between the two of you.”

Matt and I have been talking more and more in the past several months about what it would be like to have a baby.  Aside from the fact that we’ve been in grad school for a thousand years now, our biggest concern has been how another tiny human will affect our marriage—which for the past seven years has been amazing.  But as the saying goes, “Babies change everything,” along with my personal not-so-favorite, “You’ll never be ready to have a kid.”  I assume this is true, and still… we want to be more ready than just not ready at all when we do decide to start trying.  So when we heard about this book, we decided to make it a priority to read. 

John Gottman is a renowned relationship researcher and author from Seattle, WA.  He and his wife, Julie, co-wrote this book after they had their first child, heard from lots of other new parents, and decided to do several years of research on the subject.  As you might imagine (or have already experienced), the transition into parenthood can put a lot of strain on a marriage.  Fortunately, the Gottmans distilled six key factors that couples who made the transition well had in common—particularly in terms of how to handle conflict—and laid them out in this book.  Knowing that we want to remain a strong team after we have kids, Matt and I are both so grateful to have read it!

the church non-conforming: a sermon from john 17

I had the privilege recently of being asked to preach at First Presbyterian Church in Salt Lake.  The new sermon series was on the Church’s relationship with the world, and the topic of the week was “non-conforming” from Jesus’ prayer for his disciples in John 17:6-19 [full text here].  I thought I’d share an edited version J

*****

I was about ten years old when my family started going to church.  It was a little non-denominational Christian church in the small town where I grew up, and on one of my first Sundays, someone gave me a pocket-sized copy of the Gospel of John.  As a ten-year-old I didn’t understand half of it as I read it, but that didn’t matter… I carried it around with me all the time.  As I kept leafing through that little Gospel and we kept going to that church, I learned very quickly that what Jesus mentions in John 17 is a large part of the reality of being Christian:

That we are in this world, but not of this world.

That the world would hate us because we don’t belong to it... but that we can “take heart!” as Jesus said, because he has overcome the world.

In other words, that we are a non-conforming people.

There’s something about being in relationship with Christ—being part of the Church—that should make us look and speak and act differently from the rest of the world.

I began to notice even at that young age that “non-conforming” could actually be pretty easy on the surface level.  I started listening to Christian music, found a Christian bookstore, made friends that went to the Christian school, and started buying those plastic bracelets that said “WWJD” on them (shout out to anyone who did youth group in the nineties).

I learned that I could surround myself with a distinct Christian subculture that would reinforce my new identity and keep me a little safer from the rest of the world.  And in many ways it did:  I had a great childhood and I loved my church, and I managed to avoid a lot of the drama of my teenage peers.  Still now, when I listen to Christian music or read John Ortberg or Tim Keller or C.S. Lewis, I am both refined and encouraged. 

Now, on the one hand, some people accuse Christians today of not looking much different at all from the rest of the world—and in many ways, if we’re honest, they’re right. 

On the other hand, we can stay set apart by insulating ourselves from the surrounding culture… staying safe from the temptations of the Evil One in the world… waiting faithfully under God’s protection until we, like Jesus, “remain in the world no longer.”

Unfortunately, the more I’ve come to understand this passage, the more I think that’s not what Jesus is praying for. 

As he prays, he knows that he’s about to be taken to the cross—that he will be crucified, resurrected, and ascend to heaven in glory—and he is clearly concerned about the ones he’s leaving behind… but why?  Because they’re still in the world!        

Thirteen times in these fourteen verses Jesus mentions “the world.”  The Greek term (kosmos) has a variety of meanings in Scripture, but here Jesus seems to use it to refer to that within creation that is broken… the systems and principles that are hostile to God, and particularly to the truth of Christ.

If the world is hostile to the truth, surely it will be hostile to the ones who believe in that truth—that Jesus is, in fact, one with God as he says he is. 

So Jesus prays for their protection. 

But we need to pay attention to who he’s praying for.

He’s with his eleven remaining disciples (after Judas peaced out at the Last Supper).  These are his friends, and they have been with him for three long years during his ministry.  But they didn’t all start out as friends… 

One of them (Simon) was a zealot—what we might call today a violent religious extremist, a fanatic.  Zealots believed that the best way to reestablish Israel was to physically overthrow Rome.

One of them (Matthew) was a tax collector—a sellout to Rome.  He was the one who would hound his fellow Jews for money to pay the Roman empire; and tax collectors were notorious for being shady and corrupt and holding money for themselves on the side.

Several of them were fisherman—blue collar, perhaps poorly educated, working class guys… the kind who hated both the zealots and the tax collectors.

Another one, Thomas, was a skeptic, who later wouldn’t believe any of the rest of the group that Jesus had been resurrected… and who could blame him?  Some of these guys hadn’t exactly been trustworthy to begin with. 

Three years may not have been long enough. 

And later, to top it all off, Jesus would call Paul, a Pharisee, to go into the world and share the good news with the Gentiles and be part of this group of apostles. 

So in today’s terms, we essentially have a violent extremist, a corrupt IRS employee, a handful of union factory workers, a cynic, and eventually a fundamentalist… all about to be left alone together without Jesus.  If you added a condo in southern California and a few dozen cameras you could have a hit reality TV show.   Heaven have mercy on us all. 

But here’s what Jesus says, in verse 11:  “Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one.” 

These disciples are no longer of the world… because they have accepted who Jesus is and obeyed what he taught.  But they still need God’s protection… because hostility is a tough thing to break. 

Today our churches are full of people with different backgrounds: 

Some of us had loving childhoods, and some of us come from more difficult homes. 

Some of us are Republican and some are Democrat. 

Some of us are financially stable (perhaps even with significantly more than we need), while others may be living paycheck to paycheck—or with no paycheck at all.

Some of us are held down by systemic racism, while some of us get the benefit of societal privilege because of the whiteness of our skin. 

We have people who are old and young, male, female, and non-binary, gay and straight, loud and quiet, stubborn and easy-going.  

In all likelihood, we already know how difficult it is to be one, as Jesus as the Father are one… if such a thing is even humanly possible. 

But if this is what Jesus is praying for—this needs to be our goal.  This is how the Church will show the world that we refuse to conform to its hostility and brokenness. 

Right now the world is full of tribalism and mud-slinging and violence.  Especially with the internet and social media—people say things now that they would never say to another person face to face.  It is all too easy to draw ourselves into our own camps with people who think and act like us… and it happens even, and sometimes especially, within our churches.  Being Christian takes a backseat to other qualifiers.  We draw lines based on how liberal or conservative we are, which type of music we want to sing in worship, or even how we voted on church policies.  More than once I’ve looked at other Christians and resented them for giving me a “bad name.”

But Jesus seems very clear in what he says in John 13:  “By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another.”  “By this everyone will know you are not of the world… if you love one another.” 

It’s often about as easy as cutting off your own right hand.  But here’s why it matters:  

Just after this text in John 17, Jesus continues…

“My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one-- I in them and you in me-- so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

This is radical non-conformity. 

In his day, Jesus claiming to be one with the Father would have sounded blasphemous, and impossible.  Today—given the state of the world—it sounds just as impossible that people from different places, cultures, backgrounds, political affiliations, ages, genders, sexualities, and skin colors—that we all might be one in the same way that Jesus and the Father are one.  But THAT is how we have been called.  To one Body, in one Spirit, and one baptism… out of every tribe and tongue and nation… everyone who has received the word of Jesus and known in truth that he came from the Holy Father, the one whose name is over every name.

When zealots sit next to tax collectors who sit next to fisherman and skeptics and Pharisees and all of them have to figure out how to honor the oneness of God in and amongst themselves… to be brought to complete unity so that the world will come to know the one who was sent… that is the Church’s task. 

Jesus left the world, but he didn’t leave us alone.  We have been given the Holy Spirit and the truth of Christ, and they are powerful.  So I think it’s time we understand the Church’s non-conformity as less about who and what we stay away from, and more about who we dare to be near. 

[Photo credit: link]

aspiring to a wholehearted life

I just finished a book this afternoon for class.  [Class hasn’t actually started yet—our first meeting is tonight, but the book pulled me in and I couldn’t put it down.]  This book is called Toughest People toLove: How to Understand, Lead, and Love the Difficult People in your Life—IncludingYourself, by professor-pastor-counselor Chuck DeGroat. 

We all have tough people in our personal and professional lives (let’s be honest…) so when I saw this book on our syllabus for this quarter, my first thought was, Oh yeah… this is gonna be good.  And it was. 

The long and the short is that I still don’t know how to deal with the people whom I love dearly but drive me crazy—any more than they probably know how to deal with me in my crazy.

The truth is, we all have a little bit of crazy, and we’re all tough, because we’re human. 

But that was kind of the point:  dealing with each other well ultimately means dealing with ourselves and coming to terms with our own messy, annoying, glorious humanity. 

Take the following for example:

The other night I got so frustrated because Matt put a billion chopped onions in our homemade enchiladas.  I had found and followed a recipe in the past which we loved, and this time we decided to do multiple batches at one time because we’re lazy on weeknights and love easy leftovers… but I come into the kitchen, and we’re talking a massive heap of onions in the frying pan.  My immediate (and very verbal) response was to cite the holy grail of cooking texts that was the online enchilada recipe, and flush red over the fact that the onion-to-other-ingredients ratio was about to be massacred by my husband.  I went into a downward spiral about how my cooking decisions are never good enough, how he always wanted to change things, and how he wasn’t taking my desires into consideration.

None of this was true, of course.  He was only trying to be nice and help me make enchiladas.  And he happens to love onions.

The real issue is that I struggle to bend the rules.  I am far more comfortable with following recipes and controlling outcomes.  If I feel “ownership” of a task, I want it to go my own way.  I wanted him to cook how I wanted, not the other way around. 

I can be, apparently, a tough person.

The lesson here is one I’ve been hearing from a cascade of literary and pastoral voices over the last few years—Brené Brown, Thomas Merton, Richard Rohr, Ronald Richardson, and others…

They all seem to grasp the concept that part of being in healthy relationships with others is being in right relationship with God and yourself—experiencing what the Hebrew Scriptures call shalom, a deep and abiding peace and wholeness.   

Part of the problem in my relationships is me.  My life feels disorganized, my brain is fractured, my desires and aspirations are self-absorbed, and I drag around what DeGroat called a “long, invisible bag” stuffed with all the parts of myself I don’t like and don’t want others to see.  The bag gets heavier the longer I pull it around, and unfortunately it doesn’t get lighter without patiently airing out some of that dirty laundry.

I don’t want to do it.  I’d rather have you all think I’m perfect. 

But let’s be honest, “perfect” is boring.  And it’s fake.  The Greek word that we translate “perfect” in the New Testament—as in “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect”—is telios, which (in my imperfect understanding) is similar to shalom:  complete, mature, whole.  It’s less about one ideal standard than all parts working in harmony.   

“Perfect” is annoying, because it’s what we can all pretend we want to be, but no one actually believes we are.  “Whole”—or “wholehearted”—is real and honest and a bit broken, but also somewhat put graciously back together.  And it’s relatable:

It’s the deep breath you get to take when you can admit your own mistakes.

It’s the glass of wine you can have on your couch with a friend with your feet up and your shoes off as you talk about the movie you loved or the work project you’re struggling with.

It’s the spattering sound you can appreciate when you look up from your phone screen and see that it’s raining outside.    

It’s that blog post you never thought you were interesting enough to write. 

It’s the realization that it’s okay to put up boundaries with people that try to claim a lot from you.

It’s the grace that we find in Jesus’ tender and outrageous mercy. 

Failing is okay.  Being honest with ourselves and others is okay.  Putting too many onions in the enchiladas is okay.  The moral of the story here is that my crazy is going to try my best to love your crazy, because beneath all of our collective crazy and deep flaws, our name is Beloved and God said that we are all “very good.”