Who We Are

monk1I have received several emails from various people lately saying how much the  “old” InternetMonk is missed. How we have strayed away from the original intent of our founder, Michael Spencer. I need to say right up front that these emailers are correct. Today’s InternetMonk is not the same as yesterday’s InternetMonk.

When Michael began this blog about fourteen years ago, he labeled it “the power of opinion, the phenomenon of speech, the impact of truth.” In the early days, Michael wrote as much of politics as theology. He was a soldier in the culture wars. And he defended his right to have opinions on most anything.

Over time, Michael used this site to focus less on politics and more on what he came to call “Jesus-shaped spirituality.” He was a lifelong evangelical, but found less and less in that path that helped him in his desire to know and be known by our Lord. At some point he changed the subhead of InternetMonk to “Dispatches from the Post-Evangelical Wilderness.” He began to write essays that looked critically at evangelicalism. Then came his famous three-part series where he predicted the collapse of evangelicalism. It was at this time I came to know Michael and became his literary agent. I helped him secure a book deal with Waterbrook, and we began to focus on what he would write.

“Michael,” I asked, “if you were to only write one book, what would it be?” He didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“I want to write on Jesus-shaped spirituality.”

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The Homily

desert1_OPT“Didn’t we say to you in Egypt, ‘Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians’? It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert!” (Exodus 14:12, NIV)

“The unclean spirit, which has possessed a man and then goes out of him, walks about the desert looking for a resting-place, and finds none.” (Matthew 12:43, Knox)

Very few would schedule a vacation in the desert. Oh, you might go to a desert resort like I once stayed at near Phoenix. This resort was in the middle of the Sonora Desert, though you might never know it. You go out of your air conditioned room through the air conditioned lobby out to one of seven swimming pools. There are two very green golf courses wrapped around the resort. And a shopping center across the street offering yet more air conditioned places in which to escape.

No, the desert I’m talking of is the barren wasteland where you wonder if life has ever existed at all. Land that is passed over by real estate developers and mall-builders. In the fourth century, a handful of Christians went out into the desert, not because of the fear of martyrdom, but because Christianity had been legalized and there was now no more fear of being martyred. They went where the living was not easy nor populated by those who were focused only on more more more. As Thomas Merton puts it,

The Desert Fathers believed that the wilderness had been created as supremely valuable in the eyes of God precisely because it had no value to men. The wasteland was the land that could never be wasted by men because it offered them nothing. There was nothing to attract them. There was nothing to exploit.

We are more likely to identify with the cry of the Children of Israel today than the Desert Fathers. We would rather stay in Egypt and serve our slave masters than to venture with God into the desert. Again, let’s listen to Merton.

The desert was the region in which the Chosen People had wandered for forty years, cared for by God alone. They could have reached the Promised Land in a few months if they had travelled directly to it. God’s plan was that they should learn to love Him in the wilderness and that they should always look back upon the time in the desert as the idyllic time of their life with Him alone.

Continue reading “The Homily”

Saturday Ramblings 8.3.13

RamblerSo I walk into my local Hobby Lobby this last week and see they have Christmas decorations stacked to the ceiling. I see the manager, and tell him just how wrong this is. He agrees. But there you have it. Christmas in July, indeed. And now it is August. Next thing you know, people will be camped outside of Best Buy stores for Black Friday specials. Sigh … Do you know that I haven’t sent anyone a Christmas card in three years now, and my feelings of guilt are almost gone? I’m just sayin’… But one thing I would never miss is our weekly opportunity to tiptoe thru the TULIPs with you. And that parade is something we call Saturday Ramblings.

Roving Rambler Andrew Zook was scratching his head this week, wondering if an entire nation can be “saved” in one day. That was the plan this last Tuesday as a a group of 2,000 missionaries led by Missions.me attempted to reached every person in Honduras in one day. Good idea? Western hubris? Discuss.

If you were in Honduras this last week, you could stop in Orlando on your way home for the biannual hootenanny known as the Assemblies of God General Council.  Insert your own A of G joke here. (My friend Mike’s father was an Assemblies of God pastor who claimed “AG” stood for “Against God.” Ok then …)

Archaeologists (defined as “grown men and women who play in the dirt”) have discovered a 3,000 year old piece of pottery that “proves the Bible is true.” Question: Is it important to God to prove the Bible is true? Can of worms has duly been opened. Go at it.

Other archaeologists playing in other dirt found what might be a piece of a cross. THE cross. Ok …

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Reconsider Jesus – The Seed and the Soil

MichaelSpencerThe following is a small excerpt from Michael Spencer’s upcoming book: Reconsider Jesus – A fresh look at Jesus from the Gospel of Mark.  Michael Spencer’s thoughts on Mark Chapter 4 are edited by Scott Lencke. Check out his excellent blog! If you would like to be contacted when Michael Spencer’s book is available for purchase, drop us a note at michaelspencersnewbook@gmail.com.

The Seed and the Soil

Mark 4:1-8

1 Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water’s edge. 2 He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said: 3 “Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. 4 As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. 5 Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow.6 But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. 7 Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. 8 Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.” – NIV

I preached my first sermon at age 15. No one gave me any instructions or guidance. I simply tried to follow the pattern of good preachers that I knew. I soon found that imitation is not exactly flattering – at least when done by a 15 year old, preacher-boy! I did learn that at least half of a good sermon is selecting a good text. (That’s one reason I am a Baptist who likes the lectionary.)

My first text was the parable of the sower. And that sermon was better than many I have preached, since this is mainly a great sermon on its own. It captures the greatness of its preacher – Jesus of Nazareth – and the greatness of the Kingdom message he brought…

… The setting of the parable is agricultural. Many of the rabbinic parables of the day dealt with royal families, relations between kings and subjects and such. Common, “ignorant” people were often overlooked in popular storytelling. It is interesting that Jesus told some parables about kings and “important people,” but most of his parables focused on the life of the poor and the agricultural environment of his audience. There is a lesson here for any communicator. Illustrative material can be found in the common experiences of any person. Those of us who teach and proclaim the Gospel should imitate Jesus by using familiar experiences that relate the Gospel to the lives people actually live. Our communication shouldn’t be a Christian version of “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

Everyone who heard Jesus would be able to relate to the familiar scene of a sower walking on a path through the field spreading seed. The diverse kinds of soils one might find in a field were well-known to the audience. And, of course, everyone knew the hope that a crop would return many more seeds than were planted. A hundredfold return would have been especially abundant, though not necessarily miraculous. The various fates of a seed was the sort of thing even a child could understand. If it fell on hard soil, the birds would eat it. If it took root in shallow soil, the sun would cause it to demand more moisture than it could reach, and it would wither and die. If it fell among hostile weeds, it could be choked out by the more aggressive plants. But if the seed fell on good soil, a return would be likely, though the size of that return was unknown to the farmer until the harvest. All of this would have been extremely familiar to Jesus’ audience. In fact, this parable lacks the sort of “twist” or “surprise” that is often part of parables – an unusual turn that catches the hearer and creates interest.

But behind the common is the uncommon. In the small we find the big. And in the simple planting of seeds, there is Kingdom truth and spiritual reality. This is, for me, one of the most important lessons of the parable. God’s truth is illustrated, and actually present, in all the common things of life. When we learn to look at life with eyes open for the work and truth of God, we will receive glimpses and revelations of grace and power. Even the most common action can become filled with the presence of God as we see his truth illustrated and alive in all of life. God is so gracious as to make himself known to even the simplest in the “book of life,” i.e., life’s common experiences can become an avenue of truth and teaching when we are alive to what God is saying. Scripture is, of course, our anchor in truth and all truth must conform ultimately to the truth of God in scripture. Still, we should look for God to speak in the ordinary and not just in the extraordinary. Jesus’ use of parables certainly shows us that he saw his Father at work in everything and related all of life to the presence of the Kingdom of God.

When Charles Spurgeon began what is now called Spurgeon’s college, he required his students to take natural sciences and not simply theology and Bible. As he reveals in Lectures To My Students, Spurgeon felt the world of nature was full of illustrative material, and he wanted his students to learn to think in this way. Spurgeon’s method has been long cast aside, as it has now become somehow “spiritual” for some to be ignorant of anything other than “Christian” subjects. The result, in my opinion, is that we increasingly communicate only within our own cultural ghetto and fail to see God present and at work in the wider world. In the end, our communication is hampered, and we sound less and less “real” to the world to which we speak…

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I would like us to focus on Michael Spencer’s last few sentences here.  Has communicating “only within our own cultural ghetto” been something that you have observed as well?  Do we “fail to see God present and at work in the wider world?”  Do we “sound less and less real to the world to which we speak?”  If this is the case, what implications does this have for our sowing of seed?  What factors do you see pulling us towards a ghetto?  What can or should we be doing to be more engaged with the world around us?

Another Look: The Day of Salvation?

OutdoorRevival

This was first posted in April, 2010.

I remember the day I changed my thinking about when I was “saved.”

I had grown up in a mainline Protestant denomination, was baptized and confirmed, attended worship and Sunday School, and dabbled with youth group. However, in my teen years, I was not deeply involved.

Then the big change came.

At the beginning of my senior year in high school, our family moved across the country, an event that precipitated a personal crisis in my life. The foundations were removed from beneath me. For a time, I struggled with depression, drugs and alcohol, loss of meaning, purpose, and direction.

In the midst of my wandering, God graciously brought me into contact with some fellow students who attended a local Baptist church. I saw a real difference in them, and their joy was attractive. I became part of the group, though I hesitated to come forward and confess my faith as a Christian. Eventually, however, I responded to an altar call, went forward and expressed my desire to be baptized as a new follower of Jesus. From that point on, through his gracious preserving power I have never turned back.

For many years, if you had asked me when I “became a Christian,” I would have answered, in true revivalist fashion, that the day I “went forward” was “the day of my salvation.” That was when I “met Jesus,” “got saved,” and was “transferred from darkness to light.”

Then I met Joe.

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Summer Sounds from CM: A Most Entertaining Evening

steve.martin.edie.brickell_8col

Concert Review
Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers, with Edie Brickell
Murat Theatre, Indianapolis, IN. July 27, 2013

* * *

Start with a talented, Grammy Award-winning bluegrass band.

Add one of the funniest men in the world, who also happens to be an accomplished banjo player with a Grammy of his own, to play with them, write tunes for them, and emcee their concerts.

Then add a delightful vocalist who writes heartfelt lyrics and sings with a freedom and whimsy that fits perfectly with the claw-hammer banjo and old-timey bluegrass style.

Put them all together on stage and what do you get? — one of the most entertaining nights I have ever spent in a concert hall.

Last Saturday, Gail and I went downtown to hear Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers, with Edie Brickell. They are currently on tour and performing in support of their latest album, “Love Has Come For You“.

The concert was well-paced, with good variety provided by the various individuals and groups, fall on floor funny, and totally satisfying in its musical finesse, showmanship, and emotional trajectory.

For your listening pleasure today, a small bit of what we so enjoyed last Saturday —

 

 

Here is a bit of the humor, mixed with outstanding playing:

 

Lady Days

icoana_001The first fifteen days of August the Orthodox Church dedicates to Mary, the Mother of God.  There is a fast, the Dormition fast, that lasts from the first of the month to the fifteenth, which is the Feast of the Falling Asleep of the Most Holy Mother of God.  On this day, the 15th of August, we celebrate the death of the Mother of God, and the translation of her body into Paradise to be with her Son.  I do not know whether the Roman Catholic Church teaches that she died before being translated, but we do.  I think this one of the bones of contention between us.  So we fast for 15 days.

Even though the Dormition Fast is not as extended or as severe as Great Lent, it is a beautiful and restful season in the time of the Church, and it comes at a time when there isn’t much going on in the secular calendar.  Summer is winding down, and schoolchildren are preparing to return to their studies.   There is little to distract from the precious person of the Mother of God.  Extra services are scheduled.  For some reason unknown to me, the Orthodox Church uses the Fast of the Dormition for her most concentrated efforts at intercession.  Parishioners are encouraged to bring all the concerns of their families and friends, great and small, to the attention of the priest and the deacons, or in my case the president of the Parish Council.  A list is drawn up, and in the middle of the Paraklesis Service, we pause and read off this list of petitions.

The list is very long, and it takes a lot of resolution to force myself to be volitional about praying for the endless repetitions of Costases  and Nicks and Panayiotas and Dafnis and Helens and Georges and their bouts of arthritis, their broken legs, their throat infections, their struggles with college, but there are more serious concerns as well.  One couple is facing divorce, another has a grandson on heroin, another has a husband and father soon to be deployed to Afghanistan, a priest is struggling with same-sex attraction.   By the time we arrive to my fine Anglo-Saxon and North European gene stream, I realize that “many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord” has promised to deliver “him from them all”.  All of these concerns are tied up with liturgical strings at the end and are presented to the Most Holy Mother of God for her consideration.

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The Importance Of Being A Spear Carrier

Saint_LonginusWe all know them, or rather, we don’t know them but we’re aware they are there.  The bit part characters.  The ones that fill up the crowd scenes in television and movies.  The chorus in operas, where a miscellaneous crowd of villagers or brigands or courtiers ‘tra-la-la’ away in the background (often with the kinds of lyrics, as Nanny Ogg describes it in “Maskerade” as “there’s your light opera, where they sing in foreign and it basically goes “Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! I like to drink lots of beer!”, although sometimes they drink champagne instead”) while the stars perform upstage and in the spotlight.

The minor rôles, where it’s not worth casting two separate actors, so the same guy who plays (for instance) the Doctor in “Macbeth” will double up as the Servant because for the sake of a couple of lines and sticking a wig on the actor you get two for the price of one.  Important as filler, important as background, because otherwise the scene would look unrealistic without them, but lucky if they even get mentioned in the credits as “Man with Umbrella” or “Lady with Poodle”.

What most of us, quite frankly, are in our churches.  Now certainly we’ve all heard the praises of “the unknown saints”, those humble souls who lived as ordinary people and weren’t considered anything particularly special by their families, friends and neighbours but who were at an advanced level of spiritual development and love of God; the kind of person C.S. Lewis writes about in “The Great Divorce” when the narrator sees a procession in honour of a lady of dazzling light and beauty and asks who she is:

“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide.

“Not at all,” said he.  “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of.  Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”

“She seems to be … well, a person of particular importance?”

“Aye.  She is one of the great ones.  Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”

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If You Are Not Afraid, You Are Not Human

taking-shelter_-with-_-michael-shannon-buggy
Michael Shannon in “Take Shelter”

Hello. My name is Mike, and I am afraid.

I am afraid of life, and I am afraid of life’s end. I am afraid of being alone, and I am afraid of being with people. I am afraid of hatred and I am afraid of love. Truth and beauty frighten me even as I delight in them. I especially fear pain, loss, unbearable sorrow, and death itself.

It has taken me years to realize how afraid I am, and I’m sure I still don’t know.

I do not always feel this fear, mind you. It is not as though I am consciously obsessed with it or paralyzed by it.

But the fear is there and I know it. Every once in awhile, it pokes its head around the corner and startles me.

I fear my past. There is a reason the psalmist prayed, “Remember not the sins of my youth.” At certain moments, mine continue to haunt me, even though I believe I am forgiven in Christ. I am not afraid of God’s judgment, but I do fear the corrosive effects of regret, guilt feelings, and unprofitable preoccupations.

And then, here I am, five decades and more into my life, and I am still afraid I will disappoint my parents.

The older I get, the more I see that I have an interpretation of my life. It is generally favorable and approving, but my own understanding is limited and skewed. Occasionally, one of my children or an old friend or even a stranger makes a comment that opens my eyes. They see me differently. They have an interpretation too, and it is not always as generous as my own. I fear my mirror lies. I fear I may be looking at a stranger when I think I am seeing someone I know deeply.

I fear things present. I fear the beautiful and terrible things of life. My current vocation finds me in companionship with those who are dying. I have learned that life surprises, and not always in happy ways. I have shaken my head and said, “I wish I had answers, but I don’t” more times than I can count.

I fear chaos. Crippling accidents. Losing a job. Making bad, life-altering decisions. Being the chance victim of crime. The death of a child. Missing opportunities to love. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hearing that most unwanted diagnosis. Speaking words I can never retrieve.

The profound beauty of life frightens me. The beloved ocean. The austere mountains. The night sky. Billions of light-years and space we cannot fathom, and an entire unseen quantum world, besides. And I, a speck of dust — I fear absolute anonymity.

Continue reading “If You Are Not Afraid, You Are Not Human”