The Internet Monk Archives

Eugene Peterson: “Nothing disembodied, nothing impersonal, nothing in general”

Theology is about God, and God is Spirit — so why the adjective [“spiritual” theology]? Maybe because we have accumulated a lot of experience in the Christian community of persons treating theology as a subject in which God is studied in the ways we are taught to study in our schools—acquiring information that we can use, or satisfying our curiosity, or obtaining qualifications for a job or profession. There are, in fact, a lot of people within and outside formal religious settings who talk and write a lot about spirituality, things of the spirit or the soul or “higher things,” but are not interested in God. There is a wonderful line in T. H. White’s novel of King Arthur (The Once and Future King), in which Guinevere in her old age becomes the abbess of a convent: “she was a wonderful theologian but she wasn’t interested in God.” It happens.

So—spiritual theology, lived theology—not just studied, or discussed, or written about; not “God” as an abstraction but God in a participating relationship; not God as a truth to be argued; not God as a weapon to be wielded in the culture wars. Rather, the conviction that everything of God that is revealed to us is to be lived relationally in the dailiness of our human lives on this local ground on which we have been placed. Nothing disembodied, nothing impersonal, nothing in general.

– Eugene Peterson

Pastoral Joy

So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us.

…For what is our hope or joy or crown of boasting before our Lord Jesus at his coming? Is it not you? Yes, you are our glory and joy!

– 1 Thessalonians 2:8, 19-20

The Relational Pastor: Sharing in Christ by Sharing Ourselves
by Andrew Root

IVP Books (March 4, 2013)

* * *

The pastor’s joy is found in sharing a common life with real flesh and blood people.

In fact, this is the joy of human life itself. For, although each of us is a unique self, we only find our humanity in relationship to others.

This is what Andrew Root argues in his fine book, The Relational Pastor. As he puts it, “This book makes the claim that at our core we human beings are our relationships, that God encounters us in relationships and that pastoral ministry at its base is about facilitating relational encounters.”

Unfortunately, in recent history, following the trends of cultural development, pastoral ministry has been framed as being about influence, which is more about pastors using relationships to further other purposes. Root rejects this. Relationships are not tools we use to accomplish the mission, building relationships is the goal of the mission. We share the very life of God in Jesus Christ when we share in each other’s lives. As Eugene Peterson paraphrased Acts 2:42, the first believers “committed themselves to the teaching of the apostles, the life together, the common meal, and the prayers.”

Being a pastor is about living in Christ and sharing a common life with the people of my congregation, extending that life into the neighborhoods around us and inviting others to share that life with us.

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The Homily

He was despised and rejected by others;
a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity;
and as one from whom others hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him of no account.

(Isaiah 53:3, NRSV)

Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If My kingdom were of this world, then My servants would be fighting so that I would not be handed over to the Jews; but as it is, My kingdom is not of this realm.” (John 18:36, NASB)

Man Of Steel, the new Superman movie, opened in theaters across the county this weekend. It is once again a “series reset,” telling the story of Kal-El from Krypton who is sent to earth Moses-like in a cosmic basket. He is found by John and Martha Kent and raised as their son, though he is obviously “special.” When Kal-El, now known as Clark Kent, reaches the age of 33, he begins using his special powers to help others, render justice, and set wrongs right. Sound like an enjoyable flick to watch? Sure.

And yes, there are plenty of ways that Kal-El/Clark Kent/Superman looks like Jesus. One would have to be blind to miss these. There are already critics saying the Messiah message is a bit overwhelming. I haven’t seen the movie, so I can’t comment on that aspect. But I did come across something this week related to the movie that makes me upset. It seems Warner Bros. studio is pushing the Jesus connection heavily to pastors and churches, encouraging preachers to take to their pulpits today and share the message of SuperJesus, the “Original Superhero.” They even commissioned a seminary-trained professor from Pepperdine to write a sermon that connects the dots between Superman and Jesus.

I am not going to take time here to point out how moneychanger-like any church who uses this prepared sermon would become. What bothers me the most is the idea that Jesus is a superhero, here to save the day, right wrongs, and make our lives in this world so much better. The very idea of making Jesus into a superhero with superhero powers is sacrilegious. Jesus is God, the Creator, the Sustainer. He is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. He is the Supreme Word. He is very God of very God. When he took on the form of a man, he became completely human.

Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. (Philippians 2:7, The Message)

Yes, Jesus performed miracles, such as opening blind eyes and causing the lame to walk and even raising the dead. But he said that we would do greater works than he did if we but believe on him. He was not a superhero granted superhero powers to make all things right. Things were most assuredly not right when Jesus walked this earth, and have not been right since his death and resurrection. At least, not “right” in our view. We read clearly in our New Testament passage this morning that his kingdom is not to be found in this world, and thus our looking for a superhero to set this world “right” is misplaced.

Robert Capon reminds us that Jesus only saves the lost.

He saves losers and only losers. He raises the dead and only the dead. And he rejoices more over the last, the least, and the little than over all the winners in the world. That alone is what this losing race of ours needs to hear, even though it can’t stand the thought of it.

We don’t like to talk about that, because it reminds us that we are losers, and that we are dead. That there is nothing good in ourselves. But that is the truth.

Perhaps some want a superhero savior to put their foes in their places. Others may want a Superman Jesus to give them material goods and status and power. Others still just want to avoid suffering of any kind. I’m sorry, but Jesus is not a superhero. He is not Superman. He is Christ the King. He is the Good Shepherd. He is the Suffering Servant. And if you will not take him as he is, he does not give us the option to shape him as we want him to be.

So enjoy the movie. Yet when you come out of the theater, remember who your Savior is, and who he isn’t.

Saturday Ramblings 6.15.13

Hot enough for you, iMonks? Summer arrived here at the iMonastery this week. Mule Chewing Briars, being the new boy here, had to bum some sun screen from Chaplain Mike, while Adam Palmer protected his delicate skin by borrowing Martha’s umbrella. First Lady Denise just shook her head at all of the silliness. Me? I found a shady patch and went to ramblin’…

CNN, the Tampa Bay Times, and the Center for Investigative Reporting teamed together for a year-long investigation into slimy charities. And surprisingly, this time the focus is not on Christian charities. But if you think some Christian charities don’t use the same tactics as these weasels, well, have I mentioned the original Van Gogh I’m willing to let go really cheap?

Southern Baptists wrapped up their annual convention by re-electing Fred Luter as president. He seems to be a good man with a heart for the Gospel. It was also resolved that there would be no call to boycott the Boy Scouts, but it’s ok if a Baptist church or families therein don’t like the Boy Scouts anymore. What? Baptists not calling for a boycott??? Would someone please look outside and see if the world is ending?

All is not well for the SBC, as membership continues to decline. Jonathan Merritt has some ideas of how to slow or reverse this trend. Mike Huckabee disagrees. Your thoughts?

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Mingling With Monks

A couple of decades ago I read The Seven Mountains of Thomas Merton by Michael Mott. You may be familiar with this biography of a rascally and brilliant monk who spent his days at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. That literary experience sparked a desire in this non-Catholic girl’s heart to visit a monastery. I talked about it quite often with my husband who always gave me a doubtful look and no comment. The subject finally came to a head, strangely because my dinosaur of a cell phone was in its death throes in the weeks prior to Christmas. I could see the wheels turning in my husband’s head. He, along with my offspring, thought I should have a smart phone. I wasn’t due for an upgrade (as I had spent the last few on family members) and unlike Napoleon Dynamite’s brother, Kip, who loves technology, I do not. I stated in completely clear terms that I would not enjoy a smart phone for Christmas and that I would get myself something cheap and simple after the holiday.

I knew before I opened my small package Christmas morning that somehow I had been misunderstood. I would like to say that I didn’t pout, but I did. I, who had preached numerous times to my children about gratitude and graciousness, felt ungrateful and ungracious, especially when I realized the annual cost of my carved-in-stone data package contract could have been used to pay for two retreats to a monastery. In a tone reminiscent of Judas’ and the disciples’ complaint against Mary for her poured out perfume, I may have verbalized that sentiment to my husband. “Two trips?” he said. “You mean you were planning to come back?”

He was partially serious. For someone whose primary love language is words, I had failed to make myself clear all these years that my intention, in going to a monastery was for a three-day retreat, from which I would return … hopefully refreshed and ready to continue as wife and business partner, mom and grandmother, nurse, cook, writer and keeper of my people.

By April, he either overcame the doubts he’d been harboring about the part where I promised to actually return from the monastery, or he got tired of hearing me sigh every time I opened the cell phone bill. My birthday present came in a very funny card with stern-looking nun on the front telling me I was excommunicated from the house for a retreat to St. Meinrad Archabbey. Seriously? I was completely undignified in my response. Yes, I jumped up and down and laughed and cried and visited their site online every day for the next few weeks and emailed their guest coordinator with questions. I counted the days and then the hours. There was the risk that such anticipation would prove too much and I would in some way have a deflating experience. Other than the plague of my own social anxiety, which regularly robs me of peace, I felt no disappointment. In fact, even my pathologic shyness was met head on and overcome by hospitable priests, monks, staff and other guests who did not allow me to feel awkward or unwanted.

I will tell you now that I cannot do St. Meinrad justice either with my words or with my poor personal photos (photography is not my gift), but I will try to convey a bit of the physical beauty of the place and the spiritual beauty of its practices, peace and people. I had memorized the online pictures, but when I saw the spires rise up above the trees after a three-hour drive, I was stunned. Really? This is in Indiana? The archabbey sits in a lofty spot with a little town in its lap, farmland at its feet and plenty of trees and hills for natural adornment. The church is preeminent due to its altitude and size and architecture. The grounds and landscape are pristine with flowering plants and trees perfuming the air. Numerous walkways invite meandering and meditation, as well as provide photo opportunities from interesting vantage points. The guesthouse where I stayed is new and clean and comfortable.

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Pastor Piper Scares the Kids

UPDATE: In order to assist my “impulse control,” I will be going on a fast for the foreseen future. I will not presume to pick apart the popular Pastor Piper’s pronouncements any longer.

Whate’er rants there be
They will not be directed at he.

* * *

I’m sorry, this may represent my poor impulse control, but I just could not let this one pass.

Andy Nacelli has posted a children’s illustration from a sermon by John Piper. He apparently approves of the example, but I say “Nay, nay.”

Here it is:

Let’s illustrate this for the children. Your daddy is standing in a swimming pool out a little bit from the edge. You are, let’s say, three years old and standing on the edge of the pool. Daddy holds out his arms to you and says, “Jump, I’ll catch you. I promise.” Now, how do you make your daddy look good at that moment? Answer: trust him and jump. Have faith in him and jump. That makes him look strong and wise and loving. But if you won’t jump, if you shake your head and run away from the edge, you make your daddy look bad. It looks like you are saying, “he can’t catch me” [i.e., he’s incompetent] or “he won’t catch me” [i.e., he’s mean] or “it’s not a good idea to do what he tells me to do” [i.e., he’s unwise]. And all three of those make your dad look bad.

But you don’t want to make God look bad. So you trust him. Then you make him look good—which he really is. And that is what we mean when we say, “Faith glorifies God” or “Faith gives God glory.” It makes him look as good as he really is. So trusting God is really important.

And the harder it seems for him to fulfill his promise, the better he looks when you trust him. Suppose that you are at the deep end of a pool by the diving board. You are four years old and can’t swim, and your daddy is at the other end of the pool. Suddenly a big, mean dog crawls under the fence and shows his teeth and growls at you and starts coming toward you to bite you. You crawl up on the diving board and walk toward the end to get away from him. The dog puts his front paws up on the diving board. Just then, your daddy sees what’s happening and calls out, “Johnny, jump in the water. I’ll get you.”

Now, you have never jumped from one meter high and you can’t swim and your daddy is not underneath you and this water is way over your head. How do you make your daddy look good in that moment? You jump. And almost as soon as you hit the water, you feel his hands under your arms and he treads water holding you safely while someone chases the dog away. Then he takes you to the side of the pool.

We give glory to God when we trust him to do what he has promised to do—especially when all human possibilities are exhausted. Faith glorifies God. That is why God planned for faith to be the way we are justified.

This is what a child needs to hear from a pastor? — how to make your daddy look good when you are terrified by the threat of a vicious, growling, teeth-bearing dog that’s advancing to tear you to bits?

What pastor talks to children this way, putting them in a situation where they are trapped between a savage carnivore and the deep end of a swimming pool?

What intelligent human being even thinks a three or four-year old (that’s the age of the child in the illustration) has any capacity whatsoever to think, “Now, what can I do in this situation to make my daddy look good?”

Just to make it vivid, Pastor Piper paints the picture: “Suddenly a big, mean dog crawls under the fence and shows his teeth and growls at you and starts coming toward you to bite you. You crawl up on the diving board and walk toward the end to get away from him. The dog puts his front paws up on the diving board.” How many nightmares is that going to cause?

Are we living in the days of Grimm’s Fairy Tales here?

Have we learned nothing of child development and how to nurture and protect little ones from burdens too heavy for them to bear at young ages?

The most appalling aspect of this is that John Piper turns this into a lesson about God.

Apparently God has no feelings for the child in this situation (Piper is completely silent on the father’s love, concern, panic and distress concerning the child and this unbelievably frightening scenario). God must only or mainly be concerned with looking good. Oh sure, he will act. He will even save the child. As a result, he will be glorified. He will look good.

And we must never, never think of anything but making him look good.

Poppycock.

Thanks, pastor, for completely ignoring my child as a human being, as a developing person who needs love, reassurance, protection (from unnecessary fear as well from danger), and who should have permission to be a screaming, crying little bundle of panic when faced with a frightening situation. Thanks for telling him that’s not appropriate because it would make God look bad.

If we expect three and four-year olds to be little Calvinist theologians obsessed with making their Daddy look good, we will be raising a spiritually, emotionally, and relationally unhealthy and unstable generation.

I can’t for the life of me understand the mindset behind this kind of teaching. In my opinion, only one person comes out looking bad here.

Thus endeth the rant.

Pastoral Suffering

Apart from such external things, there is the daily pressure on me of concern for all the churches.

– 2 Corinthians 11:28 NASB

* * *

When I read about the Apostle Paul’s sufferings, I find it hard to relate.

2 Corinthians 11 is Paul’s resumé of his sufferings in the service of Christ. There, he writes about being imprisoned and being beaten more times than he can count. Three times he reports having found himself shipwrecked. Hey, I saw Life of Pi — that is no cakewalk, tiger or no tiger! The apostle was exposed to countless dangerous and life-threatening situations including being without food, water, and shelter, the most basic necessities of life. Paul suffered exposure, people. About the only exposure I’ve ever suffered is when the clean laundry didn’t get brought upstairs and I’ve had to sneak downstairs wrapped in a towel to retrieve it. Not Paul. As an apostle, he trekked long distances on foot on dangerous roads, and in no way was it comfortable. Along the way he had to ward off wild animals and thieves and nurse an overtaxed body while sleeping on the ground under the stars. He had to deal with the challenges of all kinds of terrain and weather and seasons.

Paul also dealt with a host of interpersonal challenges and sufferings. He didn’t just face competition from the church down the street, he had to escape slander, smear campaigns, and plots on his life from false teachers who proved to be his literal enemies. As part of a new religious sect, he faced misunderstanding, ridicule, and persecution from every side — not Jewish enough for the observant Jews, not Gentile enough for the pagans.

Paul suffered, folks. Real suffering. When he says in 2 Cor. 4:11, “We who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh,” he is not speaking metaphorically. The words “I die daily” (1 Cor. 15:31) are not about dying to self, or some other such “spiritual” nonsense. Paul literally and actually laid his life on the line every day so that others might live through Christ.

I’ll be honest. I know nothing — absolutely nothing — about that kind of suffering. I’m not sad about that, and I’m not about to go seeking it.

However, this list of sufferings for Christ’s sake has something else in it to which I can relate:

Apart from such external things, there is the daily pressure on me of concern for all the churches.

That is a breathtaking statement. First, the Apostle Paul calls all of those traumatic experiences of suffering we just discussed merely “external things.” Friends, if I went through only one of those trials, in the celebrity Christian culture we have today I’d be set for life with book contracts and appearances on every Christian media outlet. Churches would invite me to speak and market my appearance: “Come hear the amazing story of the man who spent a day and night in the deep! Learn what it means to risk it all for God!”

An external thing, says Paul. The normal kind of bump or bruise one should expect when following a crucified Savior.

But now, he continues, let’s talk about the real suffering, the real challenge. I can’t stop thinking about the people in the church. Every single day there is this huge weight on my shoulders, my heart, and my mind; a weight of anxiety and concern. I worry about them. I’m preoccupied with their well being. I’m afraid they are going to be led astray. I fear they’re going to make stupid choices and fall into sin. I can’t escape this sense of responsibility, “the daily pressure of my anxious concern for all the congregations” (CJB).

Well sure, I can relate to that. I don’t know a sentence in the Bible that sums up what it feels like to be a pastor better than that one. And it is this “daily pressure” that is one of the facts I have to deal with in my own heart and mind as I discern God’s will for my choice of vocation in the months ahead.

Right now, I serve as a hospice chaplain. When a person hears that, he or she often responds to me with a visceral reaction: “I don’t know how you can do that.” There is a notion that working in hospice, with those who are dying, being around death and loss and sadness and grief all the time must simply suck the life out of a person. Folks on the outside looking in think it must be so emotional, so draining, so hard.

That has not been my experience. On the contrary, working in hospice has provided me with an emotional respite. Compared to working in the church, working in hospice is an emotional relief. I have found it deeply satisfying and life-affirming to support people at such a significant time in their lives. It is emotionally taxing for them. It is hard for them. For me, it’s a privilege.

Now certainly, our team members make connections and grieve and find the work heavy at times too. But in the end, these are not our families, our loved ones, our shared histories, our lives, our regrets, or the things we left unsaid. At times, hospice workers are likened to “angels” and the comparison may be apt. We are “messengers,” sent at an important time to minister in the moment. We may have intense interactions with people, but at the close of the day we get in our cars and go home.

Not so with shepherds (pastors). As I’ve said often, being a pastor in a local congregation is like being the owner-operator of a small business. It is something you never leave and something which never leaves you. The operation requires constant attention and focus. “The daily pressure of anxious concern” is what fills your heart and mind.

It’s all coming back to me these days, even with my current limited involvement in pastoral ministry.

I’m only a couple of weeks into my summer of helping my home church while our pastor is on sabbatical. I lead worship and preach on Sunday. I am helping out with church work on Fridays. That’s all. Pulpit supply and a bit of pastoral care and oversight. Two days a week. And I’ve been at it for a couple of weeks now.

But I’m already feeling it — the daily pressure of anxious concern.

With each interaction I learn more about problems in the church, thoughts and feelings people have regarding various matters, needs that are not being met, folks who are struggling, work that is going undone. I’m trying to remember names, engage people in conversation, build relationships. I’m trying to get a handle on the big picture of what’s happening in the congregation so I can preach with sympathy and insight.

I go to work most days for hospice, but I’m a “double-minded man, unstable in all [my] ways” much of the time. I told a friend I don’t know how bi-vocational pastors do it. I told my wife I know why Paul recommended the single life.

Do I want this? Can I do this? Is this the best thing for me, my family, the Church, the Kingdom? Am I ready to spend the rest of my career riding the emotional roller coaster of serving in parish ministry?

Paul’s description of “pastoral suffering” may lie at the heart of my discernment process.

Daily. Pressure. Anxious. Concern. The Church.

Maybe I should just go out and ask for a good flogging, or get in a shipwreck.

This stuff ain’t for sissies.

The Wages Of Art

Almost as soon as you open your computer you sense that something is wrong. It takes too long to load your background screen, or there is a lot of unexpected disk activity causing your hard drive to sound like a pack of dwarves in their mine, or when you open your browser there is some awful ShopMe toolbar added to it. No matter how hard you try or how may times you run your antivirus software, you can’t get rid of it.

That was the sort of feeling I had the first time I was exposed to a Thomas Kinkade painting. Now, I realize Kinkade is an easy target for art snobs, but I am an incorrigible middlebrow. I have so many guilty pleasures (ABBA, Coldplay, Michael Mann, Tom Clancy, Disney animation) that spend most of my time as a consumer of art feeling guilty. My wife, then my fiancée, gushed over it, and said she may want to acquire some pieces by this artist to hang in our [prospective] home. Without hesitation, I told her that no piece by this artist would ever hang in my home as long as I had breath in my body. My reaction was that visceral and that immediate.

By all rights, I should love Thomas Kinkade and his numerous imitators. I am disgustingly average; I live in a median neighborhood, earn a median income, married at the median age, have 2.3 children [don’t ask about the .3]. From the outside, I am just another of that endless torrent of faceless commuters you experience as obstructions on your morning drive into work from your suburban sanctuary. Kinkade does well among my demographic. From all appearances he was a talented artist, and from what I’ve read about him, a devout Christian. I have even seen some of his works that work very well for me, painted before he became a brand name, which have the same artistic effect on me as painters like Theodore Clement Steele or John Singer Sargent. However, it doesn’t appear you can purchase prints of these “good” paintings. So why did I, no art critic, have such a negative reaction to this man and his work?

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How I Teach My Children About Jesus

I first met Laree Lindburg at a writers’ conference six or seven years ago. We have been good friends, and even business partners, ever since. Laree, her husband, and their three boys live in a flyover state in the heartland. I asked her to share how she teaches her boys about Jesus. Welcome Laree to the iMonastery.

My friend and former boss-man, Jeff Dunn, asked me to write a post for iMonk on how I teach my children about Jesus. The iMonk audience is one I respect greatly and am a little intimidated by to say the least…so, here goes!

My two oldest children and I are reading The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. At ages 7 and 8, they may seem on the young side for such a book, but that makes me want to read it to them all the more. Books like this are meaty. These books don’t coat reality to make it go down easier. They present the authentic, dirty, horrifying truth of our world.

Our reading has taken us through chapter seven thus far. Up to this point in the book, the author has laid out a beautiful and powerful story of her family whose roots reach deep into the community and even deeper into their love for Jesus Christ. Mother unselfishly thinks of others despite her inability to speak or function on her own. Corrie is pushed to question whether logically a lie or the moral truth is the acceptable and correct response in such circumstances. And Father who, as he watched his Jewish neighbors being loaded into a wagon and removed from sight forever, shed tears—tears for the Nazi soldiers who knew not what they did.

Corrie Ten Boom’s famous book has passed my nightstand before and I know the heart-crushing stories that she will recount in upcoming chapters. I chose this book over others for our summer reading together because I desire with all my being to see my children know and love Jesus in a messy, sloppy and socially unacceptable yet authentically personal manner. Jesus doesn’t have an imaginary circle around him from which he nudges us aside saying, “Uhmmm. You’re in my space. Back off a bit. Can you say ‘boundaries?’” He invites intimacy, even from children.

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Always the Road

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth…

– Hebrews 11:13 NRSV

* * *

All my life I’ve thought one day this wandering will be past.
The place I seek will appear, and I will be at home.
Some sweet oasis — fruitful, verdant, restful land —
And I would smile, survey the scene, and settle down.

There we would laugh and feast and play ’til dark
Then lie within each other’s arms and sigh
And sleep as those untroubled or perplexed,
Wake to breathe the dew and steaming coffee mist.

Along the way I’ve sat at pleasant tables,
I have drunk the hospitality of friends;
Laughed until our bellies ached while falling on the floor
The ticking clock meant nothing to our revelry.

But then the road, always the road,
And these images consigned to the rear view mirror.
Digging through the bin I find my sunglasses.
Visor down, I drive toward the light.