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.

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.

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?”

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.