Monday, December 7, 2020

Hope from the Stars

For many of you this won’t be news, but for those who haven’t heard, we’re in store for an exciting astronomical event this month. If you’ve been watching the night sky recently, you have probably noticed two large celestial bodies to the southwest—Jupiter and Saturn (our solar system’s two largest planets)—have been drawing increasingly closer to one another each night. And they’re drawing so near that we’re in pretty rarified air. Jupiter and Saturn get pretty close to each other once every 20 years or so, but on December 21, they will appear closer than they have since the year 1623. They'll be so close, in fact, that the two planets will essentially look like one.

This is extremely uncommon and I’m excited to witness it. But, in my opinion, that’s not nearly the coolest part of this story. There are a few other incredible aspects of this event.


First, this rare occasion where two planets appear (to the naked eye) as one, has a few names: the ‘Christmas Star’ or the ‘Star of Bethlehem.’ And then the second oddity of this story is that this celestial occurrence is just happening to take place on the longest and darkest night of the year—December 21—the Winter Solstice.


So, let’s recap what we know about this story:


On the darkest, longest, most-bleak night of the year…in the darkest, longest, most-bleak year in recent history…the Star of Bethlehem is about to show up in a way that it hasn’t in nearly 400 years.


I mean, come on! There’s no way that’s all true, is there?! Talk about a reason for hope!


I don’t really think and am not necessarily saying that God is purposefully and intentionally sending us this Christmas Star, the Star of Bethlehem, but it sure seems like perfect timing. We need to be reminded that no matter how dark and bleak life seems, God came before, He’s coming again, and, in fact, He’s already here in our presence.


As you stare to the sky in the coming weeks and then witness this astronomical phenomenon on December 21, may you be reminded that our God is still at work, is still showing up in our lives and our world, and can be hoped on during this long, bleak season of intense darkness. Watch and wait for Him. Hope and dream for Him. Longingly, yet patiently, search for Him. The Hope of the World is coming again—watch and see.

Thursday, December 3, 2020

A Lesson in the Lights

Those of you who know me well, know that I LOVE decorating for Christmas. And I especially love decorating the outside of my house. I generally add some new element to my Christmas adornments each year, so after 7 years of home ownership, the decorations are getting a little excessive.

I love pulling up to the house and seeing the lights on. I love sitting on the couch and talking as a family or reading a book, while the Christmas tree glows, the Nativity shines, and the outside lights fill the block with festivity. It’s peaceful. It’s special. It’s magical. And it truly fills my heart with joy.


But perhaps the better way to talk about this experience is that I love having my home decorated for Christmas—because I don’t always love the work it takes to get the house adorned. There are ladders to set up and constantly move. There are decorations to retrieve from hard-to-reach shelving. It’s always cold and usually snowy. You run out of daylight to work in since it’s dark by 5:00. And worst of all: the burnt-out bulbs, sections, and strands. Without fail, there is always the headache of fixing or replacing strands of lights…sometimes even after working while on the ground but mysteriously failing after installation. It can be maddening!


The process can be long, grueling, and frustrating, but the result leaves me with peace and joy, and allows my home to shine forth to our community as a beacon of light and hope.


Which is a pretty good way of thinking about spiritual formation. 


I don’t always enjoy the process of spiritual formation—the rigors of discipline, the early mornings in the Word when I’d rather be in bed, or the choosing of kind words over my preference for snark; loving my enemies when I’d rather seek vengeance or being intentionally attentive for God’s presence in our word when I’m tempted to tune out. Spiritual formation is really hard work and sometimes I’m not up to the challenge.


And yet I love the outcome of discipleship; of striving to follow Jesus more closely; of working out my salvation with fear and trembling. I love the peace and joy that come with a life devoted to Jesus. I love the courage and conviction that mysteriously emerges in my moments of doubt and despair. And I love the work that God is doing in me to help me shine forth into my community as a beacon of light and hope, just like my Christmas lights.


So, in this dark season of Advent waiting—especially in this uncertain time of global pandemic—where it would be easy to lose hope, get spiritually lethargic, and stop growing and progressing as followers of Jesus, let’s remember that the work is always worth it. Let’s commit to the hard work of spiritual formation—constantly striving to love God more deeply, love our neighbors more fully, and develop spiritual rhythms that help us to do each of those more beautifully. And may this be the best Advent ever, since we’ve practically perfected the art of waiting.

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

What is the Gospel?


I’ve been thinking about this question for the last 24 hours or so. I was chatting with a few students from Montana Bible College last night after basketball and asking them what classes they are currently taking. One student said he was enjoying his evangelism class because, even though he grew up as a pastor’s kid, he wasn’t sure he could have articulated the ‘gospel’ until taking this course.


And it really is a good question, because our answer to that question—what is the gospel?—will drastically impact how we think about God, the world, and our calling as followers of Jesus.


If the gospel is primarily that we are royal screwups who had distanced ourselves from God through our sin and Jesus had to come cover for our mistakes, then God’s going to seem angry, Jesus’ death is going to seem transactional, and our role as Christians is going to be about keeping people out of hell.


If the gospel is primarily about Jesus being a nice person who helped a bunch of people, taught some great messages, and showed us how to live, then God’s going to seem powerless, Jesus’ death and resurrection are going to seem metaphorical, and our role as Christians will be about morality.


If the gospel gets reduced to only talking about what happened on the cross and what will happen when we die, then we lose the historical and cosmic rootedness of our faith and can slip into thinking faith is only about me and my relationship with Jesus.


There are many more examples than this, but the point is that what we believe matters. It plays out in how we live and move and have our being in this world. It affects the way we worship, grow as followers of Jesus, and treat the people around us.


So, I’ve been pondering how I would respond to this question: what is the gospel? What’s the good news that encapsulates who God is, what Jesus did, and how we should respond?


For me, the gospel must tell the whole story of God’s work in the world, must not leave out the problem we’ve caused, must emphasize the love of God that led Jesus to the cross, and must capture the proper response to God’s gift of grace. So, here are a few lines I’ve been mulling over, which I anticipate continuing to work on in the years to come.


The gospel is the good news that, while we have made a mess of God’s perfect plan for creation, God loves us so much that He would come to earth to live, die, and rise again to make things right with the whole world and offer us an abundant life of holistic peace in Christ. Our response to this gracious gift is to partner with God in redeeming the world through loving God, loving our neighbors as ourselves, and helping others start walking in the way of Jesus.


How about you? How would you answer this question, “What is the gospel?”

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

Little Acts of Love

The primary Christian calling has always been, still is, and will always be the invitation to love our neighbors. It’s one of the two fundamental things Jesus asks of us and is central to a life of faith.

Now, there are lots of ways to think and talk about who our ‘neighbors’ are. But it seems clear to me that, while we are certainly called to love everyone, this neighborly invitation from Jesus should absolutely be applied to those within our geographical proximity. Yes, we are metaphorical neighbors with our brothers and sisters around the globe, but mostly we’re neighbors with those we rub shoulders with on a regular basis. Maybe it’s the house, apartment, cubicle, or desk next door; or local grocery teller or barista; or the person that always begs at the intersection near our home. The people around us are our neighbors.


But loving our actual, proximal neighbors has become increasingly difficult during this time. Our global pandemic has meant masks and physical distancing, which doesn’t help in our quest for neighborly connection. Plus, this time has meant a plethora of extra responsibilities for so many of us—resulting in an existential exhaustion—where we have little time and energy left to give to others. We’re just trying to survive, without the pressure of reaching out and connecting with new people. 


I get it. I’m there too. It’s easy (and almost justifiable) to abandon this fundamental Christian calling during this time. 


But what if we’re making it too hard? What if we’re putting too much pressure on ourselves and psyching ourselves out of something that shouldn’t be so daunting? What if there were ways we could be sneaky or efficient in how we love our neighbors? 


I’m suggesting that, especially now in this time of pandemic exhaustion, we find ways to love and serve others through things we’re already doing. Where are you already going? What are you already spending your time on? What people are you guaranteed to see each day? And are there little, simple ways that you could love the people you are proximate with in your normal day? 


I was thinking about this as I ate lunch with Larry Baker recently—where he was telling me about baking bread for his neighbors. He likes to bake and he’s already doing it, so he’s chosen to just bake a little extra as a way to bless the people he lives near. Or I was thinking of this as I recently stood in my neighbor’s entryway for the first time ever—drawn together by the fact that my children adore animals and they have a brand new Pug puppy. So we used the opportunity as a chance to get to know our neighbors a little better than we did before.


It doesn’t have to be huge or complicated. Maybe it’s a smile to a stranger or shoveling a little further down the sidewalk or checking in on the elderly woman on the block or a little bigger tip to the waiter than usual. Trust me, I understand the utter exhaustion and desire to withdraw during this time, but let’s look for little, simple ways to know, love, and bless the people God has placed in our lives.

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

The Sustenance of Community

Moment of confession: I’m not doing as well as I wish I were. Now, I am sure I’m no different than most, but just because I’m a pastor doesn’t mean I can’t be honest and vulnerable about the fact that this seemingly-unending season of Covid has taken a massive toll on my body, mind, and Spirit. 


It’s exhausting. It’s confusing. It’s saddening. It’s different. It’s disorienting. And it just won’t stop.


And the fact that there’s no definitive line on the horizon and we don’t really know how long before things will return to “normal” has just added to my struggle during this time. There’s indecision and doubt personally—tough decisions about school and work and family and vacations and holidays—but there’s also indecision and doubt professionally and pastorally—tough decisions about what we should be doing and how to keep people safe and how much we should be moving forward into new dreams and ideas.


And when you combine the existential exhaustion with the potentially-crippling indecision and disorientation, that makes for a nasty concoction. I covet your prayers.


But as I’ve processed why, despite all that we currently face, my spirit hasn’t ultimately been broken, I think it all boils down to the blessed community in my life. What has sustained me amidst this earth-shaking season? I think it ultimately comes down to having people in my life that can help shoulder the burden and lighten the load during this weird time. My family. Our church family. Our dear friends. All a blessing and encouragement to me during this rough moment.


Community is what sustains. We need each other. We can’t do this alone. And I’m so grateful to have a support system with which to weather this storm. 


So, let’s start by giving thanks for the beautiful network that is gathered around us during this time. But let’s also not neglect the power and strength of our community right now. Let’s be vulnerable with one another. Let’s be willing to tell each other our struggles. Let’s not put on a brave face and just grin and bear this rough patch. Let’s commit to helping and being helped. On your good days, find someone else to encourage and assist. But on your bad days, be willing to own the struggle and ask for help. Because we’re all fighting a great battle right now and we could really use one another, more than ever. Let your community sustain you through this time.

Monday, October 12, 2020

The Unknown Enemy


“An enemy is a person whose story we have not heard.”

The origin of that quote is slightly ambiguous*, but I’ve been thinking about those words a lot recently. I don’t think of myself as someone who has enemies, but I certainly don’t struggle to find people I disagree with, am annoyed by, or dislike. I don’t (usually) treat them badly, but I also don’t always engage them with love, hospitality, and a desire for relationship. It’s a character flaw that I constantly work on.


And this unhelpful attitude resurfaced a few weeks ago. 


Many of you know that I play basketball a few times a week and we have a pretty set group of regulars that normally attend. But, being a college town, with each new school year we often see a few new players arrive at the gym. And one of those newcomers has been driving me crazy. 


He’s good—don’t get me wrong—but he’s not as good as he thinks he is. He rarely passes the ball, he shoots way too much, and he’s generally not fun to have on your team. When on his team, I often find myself checking out of any possession that ends up in his hands, knowing that any effort at getting open will be an exercise in futility. And (moment of confession) it even got so frustrating one day that I found myself subconsciously shouting out, “Pass the ball!” 


That’s not good. That’s not kind. That’s not pastoral. And something needed to change.


But that’s where this original quote comes back into play. I realized that the one thing I could change in this scenario was not the other guy, but myself. I had made him an enemy, but I didn’t even know him. I hadn’t taken the time to ask him questions, hear about his life, and make him feel welcomed into our little community of amateur hoopers.


And now that I have, it’s a whole lot harder to treat him as an enemy. I know where he’s from and what his family did for a living. I know what’s he’s studying at MSU and what he wants to do with his life. And while there’s still plenty of relationship-building to be done, just the little amount of time I have invested in hearing his story and starting to know him as a person has diffused my anger and turned him from an enemy to a potential friend. At the very least, he’s no longer a monster and finally a person.


I fervently believe this idea: that ‘an enemy is a person whose story we haven’t heard.’ So, in our quest to live and love more like Jesus, who constantly taught and consistently lived an ethic of enemy love, let’s start our enemy-loving-endeavors by simply getting to know them and hearing their stories. It’s a radical posture in a world that loves to create enemies out of one another, but let’s welcome this radical invitation to hear, know, and love our enemies.


*some call this quote an old Jewish saying, while others contribute it to Gene Knudson Hoffman (a Quaker Peace Activist)


Monday, August 24, 2020

Taming the Tongue, Guarding the Heart

This Sunday I preached about the power of the tongue—the potency of our words and voices—to either build up or tear down; advocate or condemn; unify or divide; speak love or hate. The biblical writer, James, speaks of the immense power of our tongue by using three analogies: a bit in a horse’s mouth, the rudder of a ship, and a spark that can set a forest ablaze. Like each of these metaphors, our words are loaded with potential for incredible impact. This gift must be used with great care, or it can easily be destructive.

But one observation that was cut from my sermon for lack of time was the biblical idea that our tongues are intimately and inseparably connected to our hearts. Jesus says that what comes out of our mouths originates in our hearts: “For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34). We can’t divide the two. Whatever is inside us will eventually and inevitably ooze from our mouths. Words of encouragement, honor, unity, and love cannot proceed from a heart of discouragement, shame, division, and hate. Essentially, we are what we say.

 

Which is why we can’t just contain our mouths, but must also guard our hearts. We must tend to what’s deep down inside, knowing that those thoughts and emotions will eventually emerge, for better or worse. We can’t just publicly regulate our words, but must privately regulate our character. We might get good at keeping those dark and insidious thoughts and feelings stuffed down within, but we can’t perfectly contain them forever.

 

I was thinking about this recently in the baseball world, as a TV commentator for the Cincinnati Reds was caught uttering a highly offensive homophobic slur, live on air. It was in-between games of a doubleheader, he didn’t know the camera was rolling, and promptly issued a public apology for his hurtful comment. But the problem wasn’t just that the words escaped past his lips; the problem was the thoughts and feelings that produced those hurtful words were in his heart in the first place. The fact that these words were uttered at all that means that there’s some hatred and bigotry deep down inside that he hasn’t dealt with and owned up to. He had obviously done a good job, thus far, at hiding his thoughts publicly, but he hadn’t done the hard work of actually exposing and reforming his heart.

 

Jesus wants all of us to be in alignment with the ethics of his new kingdom. It’s not enough to manage our speech; we must also transform our hearts. Jesus is looking for complete, holistic followers, so let’s be committed to aligning both our hearts and our tongues with his beautiful new way. If there’s anything in our speech that doesn’t sound like Jesus’ speech, let’s do away with it swiftly. But let’s also do the hard work of examining our insides, calling out the depravity, and journeying toward a more holistically faithful existence.

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

The Invitation to Amazement

“Get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”

 

I’ve been reflecting on this Abraham Joshua Heschel quote for the past week, and it continues to haunt me with its beauty and wisdom.


This past Sunday, I preached from Jeremiah 29 about the life we called to live in exile. In a world—then and now—where the temptation is to complain, blame, and ultimately check out of really living, the invitation from Jeremiah and God is to put down even deeper roots, faithfully embed ourselves within our exiled existence, and really live. When we find ourselves as outsiders or outcasts, different than the world in which we live, the calling isn’t to wait it out until things get better, but to live deeply and faithfully in the here and now, partnering with God in bringing about the hopeful future He has in store. 

 

As God says to the Israelites then, he says to us now, as well:

 

“Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” (Jeremiah 29:5-7)

 

The prophets, Jeremiah and Heschel, are essentially saying the same things, each inviting us to a renewed presence and awareness in our lives. Be here. Notice the world. Take nothing for granted. Wake up to the wonders around you. Approach your existence with a general sense of curiously and awe. 

 

I find myself inspired, by each of these speakers-of-truth, to a new sort of faithfulness amid this Covid Exile—committed to being a presence of blessing through intentional faithfulness. Together let’s work for the peace and flourishing of our community, partnering with God in the redemption and restoration of our world. Let’s not check out of really living just because life has gotten tricky. Let’s use this opportunity to be the presence of Christ for our friends, enemies, neighbors, and world.

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

Practicing the Third Way

I preached a fun, but challenging, sermon this past week—about Jesus’ invitation to choose a radical, alternative Third Way whenever we are faced with the old, stale, ineffective binary options. I challenged us to be curious and creative in how we think about our engagement with other, and especially those who differ from us.

And yet, that’s really hard to actually do. Truthfully, I’m terrible at it. I regularly fall prey to the black-and-white, either/or, us vs. them mentality that currently plagues our world.


And yes, the radical way of Jesus is quite challenging, but sometimes we overthink it—and I was reminded of that by the words of this simple meme: “let’s respond with grace, even when others don’t.”

 

When I first read that simple phrase, I was floored by how perfectly it aligned with my sermon. Of course! What better Third Way could there be than grace?!

 

In a world of keeping score, holding grudges, negative political ads, Facebook fighting, bench-clearing brawls, and literal wars, grace is the most radical, transcendent, third way of living imaginable.

 

So, I need not say any more. As followers of Jesus—the one who came to bring ultimate mercy and forgiveness—let’s be people of grace, even when others aren’t.


[also, you can check out the whole sermon HERE]

Monday, July 27, 2020

A Life of Gratitude

If you’re like me, it easy to get bogged down, during this time, with the new stresses, anxieties, and inconveniences that regularly bombard us on what seems like a day-by-day basis, if not hour-by-hour. There’s family worries and work worries, church worries and school worries. There are events canceled and decisions postponed and new information to digest with each passing day. There are extra problems to solve and plans to make and children’s emotions to care for…all while the normal responsibilities of the daily grind continue to demand our attention.

It can all be too much to handle.

But, in the midst of this overwhelming time, what I’m trying to foster today is a spirit of gratitude. Despite the craziness and chaos that Covid has brought us, I’m finding that there are still reasons to be grateful. Despite the difficulty of living, parenting, and pastoring during this time, there are still a plethora of reasons to pause and give thanks.

I have a job. There’s food on my table each night. My family is healthy. No one from our church has gotten sick. I mean, there’s even little things—like the fact that we’ve had beautiful weather for each of our outdoor worship gatherings thus far.

Just in the last 10 days alone, I've been able to spend time at Templed Hills, play softball, ride mountain bikes, and have picnics, play games, and go for walks with my family. Life is hard right now, in so many ways...but it's also really good.

I can get bogged down with the burdens and neglect the blessings.

So, during this season, would you join me in striving to pause each day and give thanks to God for the blessings of this life? I’m not good at it…so I need your help. Let’s be committed to an awareness of God’s goodness and a posture of thankfulness. Would you join me in striving for a life of gratitude?

Tuesday, July 21, 2020

By Whatever Means Necessary

In my sermon on Sunday, I was forced to leave out one idea due to time—but it’s still worth mentioning. I preached about a fun and familiar story in Genesis 28, where Jacob is running from his angry brother, lies down to sleep for the night, and proceeds to have his infamous dream about a stairway to heaven. In short, he wakes from the dream, realizes that God has been in his life all along and he wasn’t aware, and his life is forever altered.

There’s an interesting idea from this story, however, that I didn’t have time to explore. I find it fascinating and noteworthy that Jacob is used to being so controlling, conniving, and manipulative, but this encounter with God happens when he has no control over the situation: while he is asleep. Jacob is a trickster; shyster; scam artist. He’s constantly working the angles, taking advantage of people, and finagling his way into things he doesn’t deserve. He’s used to always being in control, but here, this encounter just happens to him. He has no say over it.

This whole incredible encounter happens while Jacob is asleep. He finally has no control; he’s not in charge; he can’t trick his way in or out of this one. It’s like God is saying, “If you won’t stop masterminding your life and your world (which, by the way, isn’t working), then I’ll just have to enter your life through some other way. I’ll have to visit you when you can’t control the situation.”

Which makes me think of Romans 8:28 – “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” God doesn’t necessarily make all things good, but He is relentless in His effort to work for the good of His children—and that’s what He’s doing with Jacob. If Jacob won’t give up his control and stop his abusive and manipulative behavior on his own, then God is willing to get creative in how He might get Jacob’s attention.

This little subplot of the story helps remind us that we aren’t ultimately in control anyway, so we might as well not try to be. God will not relent. He will never stop pursuing us—beckoning us back into right relationship with himself and the world—the same way the Prodigal Father never stopped pursuing his wayward son. And God will use whatever means necessary to finally get our attention.

Jacob is invited to finally stop running—to surrender to God’s will and way—and that is our invitation as well. May we never have so tight of a stranglehold on our own lives and agendas that we are unable to hear, see, and sense God’s often-gentle tug on us to live into his better plan.

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

A New Center

"The Church is not to be found at the “center” of a left/right political world. The Church is to be a species of its own kind, confounding both left and right, and finding its identity from the "center" of God’s life.”
~ Rich Villodas ~

I can’t get this quote out of my head. It’s from over a year ago, but is even more relevant today as our country is more politically divided than ever and we rapidly approach another contentious election. 

It is difficult to understand and embody our social and political roles in the world as Jesus followers, both individually and collectively. We (sometimes subconsciously) ask ourselves silly questions, like “How would Jesus vote?” or “What political party would Jesus prefer?,” usually in an effort to justify our own side. Most of us wrongly assume that Jesus would be on *our* side of the political spectrum—that our party’s platform is the most biblical and spiritual. And even those who avoid this false dichotomy of seating Jesus in the front row of one party’s national convention or the other, often find themselves arguing that the politics of Jesus are actually found somewhere in the center of the American political spectrum—essentially contending that Jesus was a Moderate.

But Rich Villodas’ quote from above reminds me that Jesus’ platform was not to be found on any human-made political spectrum. Jesus transcended the patterns of the Roman world into which he was born. His way continues to baffle, surpass, and overshadow the ways of the world. And His church is called to do the same.

"The Church is not to be found at the “center” of a left/right political world. The Church is to be a species of its own kind, confounding both left and right, and finding its identity from the "center" of God’s life.”

We don’t play the games of the world. We march to the beat of a different drum. We are invited into a new, strange, counter-cultural way of being human. And this oddly beautiful, provocative, and enticing way of life all originates from a center grounded in the will and way of Jesus.

We’re not called to just sit the fence between two polarized parties; nor are we to avoid the political realm altogether. Instead, we are invited to enter the divided and divisive fray of how the world is best organized as a different sort of animal, rallied not under an allegiance to the power-hungry ways of the world, but the lovingly sacrificial ways of God. 

The church is a strange breed. We follow a different authority, live under an alternate set of ethics, and adhere to a distinct set of practices. As Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat write in their shockingly brilliant book Colossians Remixed, “In our worship we tell and retell another story than that of the republic, hear another word proclaimed, eat an alternative meal of remembrance, pledge allegiance to another sovereign, and sing hymns, psalms and spiritual songs that set our imaginations free for another way of life, another politics.” Which is why we continue to gather together each week, as the book of Hebrews instructs, because each time we do, we remind ourselves and declare to the world that there is another way of existing—a better, more kind, just, and loving way of existence.

So, in this season of tension and strife—with a crazy election approaching, church members on alternate sides of every issue, and even families divided over party platforms—may we, as followers of King Jesus, not fall prey to the temptation of choosing one broken, human system over the other. Nor may we find ourselves comfortably perched in the center of this political divide, refusing to actively engage our world. Instead, may we double down on our commitment to being a new kind of people, with God’s life and Jesus’ way firmly rooted as our center. 

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Rethinking 'Viral' Church

To begin, I need to offer three confessions. First, none of this article is based on hard data, but rather, on speculation. As I’ve lived and pastored through this pandemic, I’ve found myself curious about how churches are operating now and how they might function moving forward. Then secondly, I must own up to my personal preference for small churches over large. Of course, I’m biased as the pastor of a small church. But I also fundamentally believe that small church is a better way to function as the body of Christ than large. And thirdly, I’ll be painting with very broad brush strokes here, as not all “large” churches are created equally and have the same priorities.

That said, here’s what I've been intrigued with lately. I wonder if larger churches will start to reshape their ecclesiology (their way of doing church or their thoughts on how church should be done) as a result of this viral pandemic. I mean, they have to, right?! In a globally connected world where goods, services, and ideas, including a virus, can be spread throughout the world in a heartbeat, I would think large churches would need to rethink their methods of cramming as many people as possible into as large a room as possible to have as great an impact as possible. It’s a noble ambition—the attempt to reach as many people for Christ as possible—but it just doesn’t seem like a feasible or wise model for ministry in both the short- and long-term. 

I would think these large churches would need to re-strategize for how they might reach people and do ministry differently in a world that can be so quickly infected and affected.

But then that thought led me down the rabbit hole to the next one—this time a critique of the large church model. I began wondering about the idea of a “virus” or things going “viral” as a metaphor for the way the church-growth and megachurch movements think about the gospel and church. I think you could accurately say that megachurches (and the churches that aspire to be them) want the gospel and their churches to go “viral.” They want their ministry and influence to blow up quickly, to take off like a flash. They want it to spread like wildfire, reaching as many people as humanly possible—multiple services, large sanctuaries, and a massive online presence.

And again, I don’t think this impulse begins from a bad place, but this desire can become sickening really easily and quickly. Reaching the world for Christ is certainly a noble pursuit, but the aspiration for ministry to go “viral” can easily become self-gratifying, shallow, and sometimes even toxic. The goal can easily become growth for the sake of growth, rather than the fulfilling and expanding of God’s Kingdom. People tune in from the fringes, but often fail to plug in deeply to the way of Jesus and the life of the church.

Not to mention the fact that this “viral” ministry model seems contrary to the ministry of Jesus. For Jesus, the metaphors he uses to speak of the gospel and the kingdom are mostly agricultural. You till the soil and plant the seeds. You water and pray for sunshine. It takes a while and requires much patience. You don’t see instant success—or sometimes any success at all. But that’s the way the gospel grows: slowly and steadily. 

That’s the way Jesus went about his ministry, patiently and persistently. A few followers here, a few miracles there, a sermon or two sprinkled in on occasion. He wasn’t in a rush. His ministry was far deeper than it was wide, with Jesus even encouraging people to keep quiet about his work for fear it would spread too quickly. When crowds would clamor to him, it only took a quick reminder of the difficulty and demand of the gospel for the multitude to rapidly reduce. There was nothing “viral” about Jesus’ ministry.

And that’s the way the early church grew as well. Sure, there were times where 3,000 or 5,000 were added to their number in a day, but the church still spread through small, local, hidden house churches. They organized themselves to be able to care for real needs, sharing all things in common and joining together daily for worship and the breaking of bread. That sure doesn’t sound like a ‘viral,’ megachurch mentality to me.

The gospel or the church going “viral” most likely means it’s not taking root deeply, here today and possibly gone tomorrow. And churches going “viral” probably means that those people will catch the next viral bug that comes along—the next big, trendy church—and off they’ll go, infected by the next strain of ‘viral’ church.

But the beautiful irony is that a virus could be the very thing to help churches see the problem with their viral ecclesiology. We are being forced to slow things down, spread people out, and not continue the incessant sprint of ‘viral’ ministry toward church growth. And I intentionally used the word we, there, because even small churches aren’t immune from the lure of viral ministry. But my sincere prayer for all churches during this time, and especially large ones, is that we would recommit to the ministry of Jesus—a slow, intentional, deeply-relational way of being with people that grows incrementally by emphasizing the depth of the few instead of the breadth of the many. Let’s stop worrying about going ‘viral’—the rapid growth of butts, bucks, and buildings—and be more invested in the slow, steady, often unnoticed and unheralded work of loving our church, our neighbors, and our community—the flourishing of our world.  

Monday, June 22, 2020

The Hard Work of Becoming Better

It’s hard work improving. It’s not always easy becoming the person we were created to be.

Maybe I’m no worse than most, but I’m the kind of person who generally prefers to take the easy or fun way when it comes to any obstacle or challenge. I’d rather ride the chair lift with my bike or skis than ‘earn my turns’ through a grueling uphill. I’ll run, but only if I’m dribbling a soccer- or basketball. Give me the fun of rock climbing over the taxing ascent of mountain climbing any day. If I can avoid the hard work and still get the fun, I’ll do that all day, every day.

And that’s true for me emotionally, relationally, and spiritually too—as I constantly push back against the difficulty of development, the inconvenience of improvement.

I was thinking about that part of my personality again last night—as I was dying after mile two of five on a long, arduous climb on my mountain bike. I don’t like to work hard. I have no patience for things not going well or simply. I love it when life is easy and fun. It’s best when everything just works out nicely and neatly.

But, of course, that’s rarely how life goes—and certainly not the way progress and maturity work. Growth is a grind. It takes effort and intentionality, humility and hope, perseverance and patience. And usually (and unfortunately) it takes sacrifice and surrender. If we want to be a better person, spouse, friend, and neighbor, it’s going to take effort. If we want to grow in our faith and follow Jesus more closely, it’s going to be costly and challenging.

But, of course, the hard work is worth it.

Despite the fact that I despise the difficulty and detest the needed dedication, the grueling grind is always worth the effort. You get to that peak, take in the beauty of God’s creation, and then get to soar down the mountain in sheer delight. You agonize over those papers and cram for those exams, but you one-day find yourself walking across that stage to receive your diploma. You suffer through the hard work of breaking that habit, fixing that relationship, or starting that new practice, only to realize that the end result was absolutely worth the work.

And even when the finished product isn’t perfect or great or even good, I almost always find that the arduous journey was still worthwhile—that something profound and transformational happened through the process, not just in the product.

So, even though it’s easier to remain stagnant, not change, and never push ourselves to be better, let’s remain committed to the lifelong process of growth and discipleship—of mastering the art of living and becoming more in-tune with the ways of God’s kingdom. Let’s be willing to do whatever hard things are required of us to grow and mature in faith.

Paul tells the Philippian church that “…whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice.” That sounds like pretty good advice to me. So, let’s be intentional about focusing on the ways of God and disciplined to do the hard work it will takes to become, even more, the people of God.

Monday, June 8, 2020

An Existential Exhaustion

I’ve been unusually tired lately, and until last night, I couldn’t figure out why. I’ve been going to bed earlier than usual to combat my fatigue, sleeping in a little longer, when I can, to battle against this weariness, and even recently had a week of vacation at our cabin to relax and refresh. Yet I still feel tired and worn-out, constantly dwelling in a state of exhaustion.

And it’s been confusing to process and challenging to verbalize, because it’s not just physical tiredness I’m experiencing—it’s also some sort of spiritual and emotional fatigue. The best way I’ve found to describe what I’m feeling is existential exhaustion—being tired, worn out, and depleted at my core. But I wasn’t able to understand and name why this was happening until last night, through a conversation with Mandy.

I think it’s all connected, for me, to Facebook.

I’m not alone in this, but the last three months of my communal and pastoral life have been spent on social media. I’ve been almost exclusively a phone-based friend and an online pastor. Facebook has been my home—my primary connection to the outside world, including the congregation I serve.

But as you all know, Facebook, now more than ever, is a place of divisiveness and hostility. Everyone has an opinion, no one is agenda-less, and most people hold their opinions with far-too-much certainty. So, when you combine that with the fact that misinformation abounds, from all parts of the political spectrum, it makes for strange and strained relational dynamics. Facebook is a dangerous place to live right now, rife with political, racial, and social landmines that might explode with any false step.

And that’s what I find to be existentially exhausting.

I’ve only just begun to recognize it, but as a human, friend, and pastor, I’m finding it downright draining to navigate the information and misinformation, opinions and reflections, posts and comments of Facebook on a minute-by-minute basis. As someone who seeks to avoid the fray of partisan politics as much as possible, has family and friends on both sides of nearly every issue, and who pastors a church of immense political diversity, I’m finding it incredibly difficult to know how to be faithfully and pastorally present on Facebook.

If someone shares an article or a comment that I agree with, how do I respond? What message am I sending through a ‘like’ or a comment? Is that the message I want to publicly display?

If someone shares or comments in a way I disagree with, how do I proceed? Do I push back? Do I let it go? And then if I do let it go, I find myself mulling over what I *would* have said had I *not* let it go?

And what do I personally share or not share? Or if I share something or comment and someone pushes back against me, do I respond or let it go? And what do I say and how do I best say it?

It’s all very confusing and frustrating. But what I’m just now realizing is that it’s also quite debilitating. It’s stealing my soul, robbing my energy, and distracting me from what’s really important. I find myself thinking about these questions way too much, and it’s taking a toll on my body, mind, and soul—not to mention my ability to be present and attentive to God, my family, my friends, and the world.

So, I’m stepping away from Facebook for a little while, to give myself space to rest, heal, and focus on what’s really important. I need a social media detox. I’m deleting the Facebook app from my phone and will only use it for my job, including live streaming our worship gatherings. Any Facebook posts you see will have been automatically linked from Instagram, which is a fun resource for connecting with friends and not an exhausting platform for debating and arguing issues. I have no idea how long this Facebook Fast will last, but I’m excited to see how my body, mind, and soul might heal from this existential exhaustion.

[Note: if you want to reach me, please do so via phone/text (406-581-0749), email (jasonbowker1@gmail.com), or Facebook Messenger]

Friday, May 22, 2020

The Reward of Prayer

I’ve found myself praying a lot more than usual during the last few months, but the prayers have been different. Often my prayers are bold, brash, and pragmatic, asking God to provide something or do something or help me out in some specific way. Then I sit back and see if the prayer gets answered. And some of my prayers during this time have been like that—like “God, would you end this virus.” But most of my prayers during this period have been different: more simple, honest, and communal—like “God, I need you” or “God, please help” or “God, thank you” or “God, give me wisdom.” It’s as if the peculiarity of this time has stripped down my prayer life and named the truest parts of my relationship with God.

Our audible and/or conscious prayers can often be fairly selfish prayers of petition, where we’re asking God to provide something for us. And I think that’s because we don’t really know what else to talk to God about. But I think if we were able to acknowledge and name the truest prayers of our hearts—the true desires we wish to express to a power greater than ourselves—we would more often find ourselves praying these simple, beautiful, communal prayers. We would pray like the psalmist, saying, “Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts.” Deep in our inmost parts, we really just want to know God and be known.

Which is what Jesus says will happen when we pray sincerely.

In Matthew 6:6, Jesus offers us these instructions about prayer: “When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

Now, at first glance, that sort of prayer still feels like a bold, brash, and pragmatic prayer of petition, where we ask God for something and then await our reward: the answer to our prayers. But that’s not exactly the picture the Greek word for “reward” (apodosei) is trying to convey. The word literally means “to give back” or “return.” So, the pray-er gives something…and then God gives it back or returns it. Which, what does the pray-er give? Nothing more than time, attention, dedication, and complete presence. So then, that is the ‘reward’ we get back from God; the thing he gives back or returns. Sometimes God responds to our prayers of petition with practical and tangible answers. But God always responds to the deepest, simplest prayers of our hearts with time, attention, dedication, and complete presence.

And the point I’m making about God’s “rewards” is only further confirmed through the next section of text about fasting, where Jesus uses the same Greek word to once again say that we will be rewarded for fasting—which the reward here is clearly not physical or practical, but can only be meant in terms of God’s time, attention, dedication, and complete presence. When we are present to God through fasting, He is present with us as well. And the same is true in prayer.

So, the point I’ve not-so-succinctly spent nearly 700 words to arrive at is simple: when you pray, especially in this time, allow your prayers to be simple, honest, and real, tapping into your deepest and inmost parts. Because the reward for these prayers is intimate community with the Creator of the universe, your Father in heaven. Yes, we should pray bold, brash, and pragmatic prayers for God to do the miraculous in our world. But Jesus’ wisdom for us in this time (and beyond) is to primarily be people who spend their prayer life in simple, honest, and communal time with God, because when we do, we will be rewarded with God’s very presence—including his comfort, peace, assurance, and hope. He rewards our prayer lives through giving back. When we lean into Him, He leans right back. He meets us in that place and rewards us with His very self.

So, may you lean into God’s presence during this time of uncertainty and stress, and truly sense God returning the favor.

Thursday, May 21, 2020

Celebrating the Ascension

Today, in the church calendar, we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus—which is an often-neglected holiday, but one worth considering.

Essentially, this is a day of empowerment. Jesus told his disciples—including us, as his present-day disciples—that they would do even greater things than him. But that can’t happen with him around. Time after time, the disciples turned to Jesus to teach, help, heal, and feed people, rather than doing it themselves. And nothing has changed. I want Jesus to do the miraculous, but often fail to step in and be the miracle people need.

Jesus leaving earth is liberating and enabling. He is still with us in spirit, but leaves the world in our hands to do the things he’s been doing, bless the people he’s been blessing, and form a community of love like he’s been forming. Jesus’ ascension is his bold declaration to us that “you’ve got this!” He believes in us to be the church, empowered to do the ministry he left behind. So, let’s get busy teaching, helping, healing, and feeding.

Friday, May 8, 2020

An Angry Run with Ahmaud

That was an angry run.

I love to keep active and stay in shape, but I hate going running! With a passion…always have, always will. But being unable to play basketball during the pandemic, I’ve resorted to running to stay in shape.

And tonight was the perfect night for a run. I was running for Ahmaud.

But nothing quite went as expected. My dog got sick of running and forced me to take her home mid-run. We ate dinner too late and I felt it in my stomach the whole time. I’m badly out of shape and 2.23 miles is a stretch for me right now. And then, of course, it rained on me for most of the run.

But you know what didn’t happen?! I didn’t get shot.

No one suspected me of burglary based on what I look like. No one chased me down with guns. And no one killed me. Nor did I even worry about any of that for one second. Because I don’t have to…especially where I live…because I’m white.

So, tonight I ran for Ahmaud…and for all the people in our country who face fear and danger simply because their skin is more colorful than mine.

And I ran angry…because it’s unjust and unfair and I simply can’t believe that in the year 2020 we still haven’t progressed to a point where a black man can go for a run in his neighborhood and not have to worry about whether he’ll make it home.

I ran committed to stand up against racism, bigotry, and violence when I see it. I ran to remind myself of the power and privilege I have as a white man in our country and committed to using my power and privilege for good and not evil. I ran to remember those who have been lost to the evil of racism.

Lord, deliver us from evil. For yours is the Kingdom…and it’s a kingdom of love and grace.