Archive: February, 2012

Feb
29
2012

This post is from a larger series under the cat­e­gory Friend to Jesus. It is a detailed explo­ration of the three stages of faith: the believer, the ser­vant and the friend of God. If you want to start at the begin­ning, it begins with the post How Look­ing at a Car­avag­gio Paint­ing Can Change Your Life and then con­tin­ues chronologically.

Every­thing you want in life is right out­side your com­fort zone. Robert Allen

I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to expe­ri­ence pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop ques­tion­ing and crit­i­ciz­ing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new under­stand­ing, and new love. Sylvia Plath

God draws, but He draws the will­ing one. John Chrysostom

As I thought about this woman that I men­tioned in the pre­vi­ous post, it dawned on me just how imper­a­tive it is to con­tin­u­ally pur­sue God. As an exam­ple of this, I know of some­one who recently has walked away from their faith. This was a per­son who some years back was serv­ing and liv­ing a life that was exem­plary when it came to being a Chris­t­ian. How­ever, over the last cou­ple of years, I began to see that this life began to wane and he did not take his rela­tion­ship with God very seri­ously over these last years. Slowly over time, it began to show, and not only with the obvi­ous out­ward signs. Sadly, since that time, he has made many poor deci­sions, which has not only impacted him neg­a­tively, but his fam­ily as well. It’s been a lit­tle bit like watch­ing a train wreck.

Of late, I have been think­ing about how unhealthy it can be to not have Jesus at the cen­ter of your life on a daily basis. Yet this hap­pens all the time. In gen­eral, the church today places such empha­sis on evan­ge­lism, “get­ting peo­ple saved and into heaven,” but focuses too lit­tle on discipleship—learning how to live a life with Jesus. The Barna Group has some stag­ger­ing sta­tis­tics, con­firm­ing the fact that the church is good at “mak­ing con­verts, but not disciples:”

  • In a recent study, when Chris­t­ian adults were asked to iden­tify their most impor­tant goal for their life, not a sin­gle per­son said it was to be a com­mit­ted fol­lower of Jesus Christ.
  • Less than one out of every five born again adults had any spe­cific and mea­sur­able goals related to their per­sonal spir­i­tual development.
  • Less than 1% of all Chris­tians per­ceived a con­nec­tion between their efforts to wor­ship God and their devel­op­ment as a dis­ci­ple of Jesus.
  • The most widely-known Bible verse among adult and teen Chris­tians is “God helps those who help themselves”—which is not actu­ally in the Bible, and con­flicts with the basic mes­sage of Scripture.

Liv­ing with Jesus every day—this is really where life begins, not when you say the sinner’s prayer. Life is always con­tin­u­ing and we need to move with it. How­ever, too often in Chris­t­ian cir­cles, being reflec­tive and delib­er­ate about our rela­tion­ship with God is put to the side. For what­ever rea­son, peo­ple tend to stag­nate rather than thrive after mak­ing a com­mit­ment of faith. Ques­tions don’t get asked. Masks begin to be worn. We play the part, but in real­ity, we don’t know how to gen­uinely be in friend­ship with God. Liv­ing the Chris­t­ian life and going through the motions is easy, being in rela­tion­ship with Jesus is a whole dif­fer­ent mat­ter. This is what he was talk­ing about when he told the para­ble about build­ing your life on the sand—that it was unsafe to build on some­thing that is temporary.

After becom­ing a Chris­t­ian, I learned an impor­tant lesson—if you have any amount of bib­li­cal knowl­edge, watch out. You even­tu­ally will become the expert, the guru. Peo­ple will per­ceive that you have it all together, look up to you, and believe that you and God must be best buds. But all of this can be dan­ger­ous, because it can per­pet­u­ate a seri­ous problem—you will begin to learn how to live an inau­then­tic life; you will learn how to fake it. In the end, you will paint your­self  into a cor­ner to which there is no escape. Because you have played the role of the well-behaved church­goer, you won’t know how to play any other part. Sadly, I know this from first-hand expe­ri­ence from years past.

But reli­gious knowl­edge is never the stan­dard for hav­ing a rela­tion­ship with God and too often in the church, this is what we empha­size. It’s easy to know a lot about some­one; it’s a whole new thing to know some­one. This makes sense—it’s much more easy and com­fort­able to just know about some­one, sim­ply know­ing the facts (e.g., “she works at a hos­pi­tal, likes to eat sal­ads at lunch, has three kids, and dri­ves a white Toy­ota Sienna.”). There’s dis­tance and safety and very lit­tle mess. But know­ing just the facts about some­one does not mean you know them. Lots of us know a lot of stuff about a whole bunch of peo­ple, but it goes about as far as that. Our knowl­edge is a mile wide, but an inch deep. For some, it can be rare that they have gen­uinely deep and strong friendships. They keep peo­ple at bay, at a safe dis­tance and they don’t go too deep. We can also do the same with God.

But we need to move beyond just know­ing about God—we need to push to know him per­son­ally. John Wes­ley once wrote, “Once in seven years I burn all my ser­mons; for it is a shame, if I can­not write bet­ter ser­mons now than I did seven years ago.” In that state­ment, Wes­ley was say­ing that it was not a good thing if he hadn’t grown beyond where he once stood in terms of know­ing God. We need to keep mov­ing on as well, being rest­less and ask­ing for more. This should be our end goal. I think C.S. Lewis said it in the most direct way possible:

Every time you make a choice, you are turn­ing the cen­tral part of you, the part of you that chooses, into some­thing a lit­tle dif­fer­ent from what it was before. And, tak­ing your life as a whole, with all your innu­mer­able choices, all your life long you are slowly turn­ing this cen­tral thing either into a Heaven crea­ture or into a hell­ish creature—either into a crea­ture that is in har­mony with God, and with other crea­tures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fel­low crea­tures and with itself.

Those are strong and dif­fi­cult words, but they are true. Yogi Berra said it in a sim­i­lar way, but in a way only he could: “If you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll end up some­where else.” As Chris­tians, we need to con­tin­u­ally change and grow and move beyond just know­ing about God and gen­uinely encounter him. At the end of the day, we need to know where we are headed.


In: Friend to Jesus
Tags: , , , , , ,
Feb
29
2012

This post is from a larger series under the cat­e­gory Friend to Jesus. It is a detailed explo­ration of the three stages of faith: the believer, the ser­vant and the friend of God. If you want to start at the begin­ning, it begins with the post How Look­ing at a Car­avag­gio Paint­ing Can Change Your Life and then con­tin­ues chronologically.

The out­ward work will never be puny if the inward work is great. And the out­ward work can never be great or even good if the inward one is puny or of lit­tle worth. The inward work invari­ably includes in itself all expan­sive­ness, all breadth, all length, all depth. Such a work receives and draws all its being from nowhere else except from and in the heart of God. Meis­ter Eckhart

Some peo­ple feel the rain. Oth­ers just get wet. Bob Dylan   

The other night I was watch­ing a show on tele­vi­sion and a woman being inter­viewed said that she had grown up in a “good Chris­t­ian” home. I’ve heard that phrase a lot lately. We all want to be good Chris­tians, don’t we? But the ques­tion is—what is a “good Chris­t­ian?” Is a good Chris­t­ian one who says they believe in God? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who does all the right things: doesn’t go see rated R movies, or cuss, spit or have tat­toos? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who goes to church every Sun­day and every Wednes­day? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who reads the Bible every morn­ing with­out miss­ing a sin­gle day for years and years? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who serves down at the home­less shel­ter every other week­end? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who prays before each meal, head bowed and eyes closed? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who has mem­o­rized a whole slew of Bible verses and can recite them on com­mand? Is a good Chris­t­ian some­one who tithes 15% of their gross income? Is a good Chris­t­ian one who com­mits his life to being a pas­tor, a dea­con or a mis­sion­ary to some for­got­ten world? What exactly is a good Chris­t­ian? I think a good Chris­t­ian is one who loves God with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength and then also loves their neigh­bor as them­selves. But one can only do that by being in an ever-growing rela­tion­ship with Jesus. These are his words—not mine.

So with this, some years ago I was asked one of the most dif­fi­cult ques­tions I have ever encoun­tered as a psy­chol­o­gist. The ques­tion caught me off guard. A young wife stared at me seri­ously and almost in a whis­per, reluc­tantly asked a sim­ple, but pro­found ques­tion. Her words were uncom­pli­cated as she asked, “How do I have a rela­tion­ship with God?” You have to under­stand that this was a twenty-six year old woman who had grown up in the church, had attended church for many years, and I know for a fact, heard some very good ser­mons on this very ques­tion while attend­ing there. Yet this ques­tion kept at her, so much so that in the silence that some­times dis­turbs a coun­sel­ing ses­sion, her ques­tion emerged, and it prob­a­bly lin­gered in her for years unspo­ken. How­ever, her prob­lem was not so straight­for­ward. She was really ask­ing a more com­plex ques­tion—how do I know God? I thought—now, that is a ques­tion! It made me won­der, how many oth­ers also wish to ask that very question?

Beyond this, she was look­ing for some­thing that she had never experienced—she did her devo­tions; she attended church reg­u­larly; she stood up and sang the songs dur­ing the wor­ship dur­ing the ser­vice. This young woman was look­ing for friend­ship. As Bernard of Clair­vaux said nearly a thou­sand years ago about his rela­tion­ship with God, “I have a friend. I have freed my soul.” Think about that—what does that mean to have your soul freed? That’s what this client of mine wanted; she wanted to be freed. Yet she knew deep in her heart the rela­tion­ship with God she had was not doing this—there was lit­tle, if any, free­dom in her soul. She knew deep down that there was some­thing more dynamic, more all-encompassing and she wanted it.

Very slowly, I began to explain to her this process and the jour­ney I will detail in this blog. To be hon­est, I had to think about that ques­tion more deeply than I ever had. I wanted to give her the right answer and not just a line. This is a moti­va­tion of why I write—one Thurs­day evening a young wife asked a ques­tion that called out to be answered—how can some­one have a free­ing rela­tion­ship with their Cre­ator? Bren­nan Man­ning paints the answer to this ques­tion in bright col­ors: “Reli­gion is not a mat­ter of learn­ing how to think about God, but actu­ally encoun­ter­ing him.” This woman, like so many oth­ers, no longer wanted to just think about God or play games with him, she desired to encounter him. Was that even possible?

 


In: Friend to Jesus
Tags: , , ,
Feb
29
2012

This post is from a larger series under the cat­e­gory Friend to Jesus. It is a detailed explo­ration of the three stages of faith: the believer, the ser­vant and the friend of God. If you want to start at the begin­ning, it begins with the post How Look­ing at a Car­avag­gio Paint­ing Can Change Your Life and then con­tin­ues chronologically.

It is not what you say that mat­ters, but the man­ner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages. William Car­los Williams

Imag­i­na­tion is the begin­ning of cre­ation. You imag­ine what you desire, you will what you imag­ine and at last you cre­ate what you will.” George Bernard Shaw 

Every­one must have two pock­ets, so that he can reach into the one or the other, accord­ing to his needs. In his right pocket are to be the words: “For my sake the world was cre­ated,” and in his left: “I am dust and ashes.” Mar­tin Buber

Did you know that in the Bible, there is a quote from a Greek pagan poet? Paul in the book of Acts cites the poet Ara­tus (271–213 BC) from his book of poetry Phaenom­ena to make a point about God. Ara­tus penned the words that we find in Acts 17:28, “For in him we live and move and have our being.” Paul slyly used these words to drive home the argu­ment to his Greek lis­ten­ers that God could be found and not in some­thing fash­ioned out of gold or sil­ver. Ara­tus had some­thing to say and it was pro­found, even though he per­haps didn’t fully real­ize the impli­ca­tions as he wrote those words almost three hun­dred years ear­lier. Ara­tus is not a well-known poet today, and yet, the Bible has made his words lit­er­ally eter­nal. God has some­times used the pagan or non-Christian to mur­mur the pro­found. God can use any­one at any time to offer his truth, even when they might not even know it.

Mar­tin Buber, a Jew­ish the­olo­gian, wrote some­thing insight­ful and impor­tant which is quoted at the begin­ning of this sec­tion. These words above are pro­found. In my work as a pas­tor and coun­selor, I have the tremen­dous priv­i­lege of hear­ing the secrets of people’s lives. You should hear the stuff I get to hear—wives unload­ing dark pasts that have never been uttered; young men in tears strug­gling deeply with their futures and desires; cou­ples speak­ing in stark hon­esty about the gru­el­ing dis­con­nect­ed­ness of their love for one another. Because of the ethic of con­fi­den­tial­ity that is inher­ent in car­ing for these peo­ple, these indi­vid­u­als finally feel they have the free­dom to unbur­den their lives and I some­times am the aus­pi­cious recip­i­ent to their pri­vate thoughts.

What Buber talks about in this quo­ta­tion is exactly where I find peo­ple strug­gling the most. They per­haps know in their minds that “for the sake of the world they were cre­ated,” but it has yet to seep down prac­ti­cally in their lives and because of this, words such as these are dis­tant to them. Think about that phrase for a minute—for the sake of the world you were cre­ated—that is a truth that the Bible time and time again tries to explain to us.

How­ever, Buber in this quote, only got it part right. If we are to be entirely cor­rect and bib­li­cal, we would need to add to his words—“for the sake of being in rela­tion­ship with God, you were cre­ated.” The Cre­ator of the uni­verse, THE I AM, Elo­him, Yah­weh, Jesus also cre­ated you to be in rela­tion­ship with him. He deeply desires to be close to you. This is first and fore­most, God cre­ated you for one pur­pose, because he wanted to have a rela­tion­ship with you. Just as much as he desired for you to have a rela­tion­ship with him; he equally desires to have a rela­tion­ship with you. This was the whole of cre­ation, the pur­pose of the cre­ation story—the story boiled down to its core—it is that God desired to be in a rela­tion­ship with us. Granted, many of us know about this. We heard it in Sun­day school or from some pas­tor one Sun­day morn­ing, but this is the point—we may know about it, but we might not know it for our­selves, and expe­ri­ence this truth down into our bones. We can maybe sing the words Jesus, loves me, this I know…but the words are voiced, but not truly believed.

Most I meet who are strug­gling, know Buber’s con­clud­ing words the best—“I am dust and ashes.” Too many peo­ple that I meet, espe­cially those who call them­selves Chris­tians, know very lit­tle in terms of expe­ri­ence of who they were cre­ated to be. They base their worth on some­thing else rather than their rela­tion­ship with God. They base it on their work, or on a rela­tion­ship, or on a tra­di­tion, or some­thing oddly dif­fer­ent. This is where a lot of my work as a pas­tor and psy­chol­o­gist tends to lean—getting indi­vid­u­als to see who they are in Jesus’ eyes. The human per­son in their fallen state has such black and white think­ing. We are either great or we are either noth­ing. We either think too highly of our­selves or too lit­tle. There is usu­ally no mid­dle ground with us; and in many cases, and for some of us, we tend to move toward see­ing our­selves too poorly. As one exam­ple, the medieval the­olo­gian John Calvin wrote some impor­tant and good things, but teach­ing that we are “but a rot­ten­ness and a worm” (Calvin 39) was not one of them. How often I see peo­ple grav­i­tate toward this type of think­ing about them­selves and the ram­i­fi­ca­tions are ter­ri­bly dam­ag­ing. There is bal­ance in the Chris­t­ian life and too often we lean too much in one direc­tion or the other.

The Bible is clear—while it is true that we are sin­ners, we can also be saints.


In: Friend to Jesus
Tags: , ,
Feb
29
2012

This post is from a larger series under the cat­e­gory Friend to Jesus. It is a detailed explo­ration of the three stages of faith: the believer, the ser­vant and the friend of God.This post is the begin­ning of the series.

A painter should begin every can­vas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light. Leonardo da Vinci

I have read in Plato and Cicero say­ings that are wise and very beau­ti­ful; but I have never read in either of them: Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden. St. Augustine

Almost twenty-five years ago, shortly after becom­ing a Chris­t­ian, I came across a remark­able paint­ing. I was at my school’s library in down­town Chicago—Grant Park was right out­side the win­dow from where I sat. As I turned the page of a book the 15th cen­tury Ital­ian painter Michelan­gelo Caravaggio’s The Sup­per at Emmaus caught my eye.  I was flip­ping through a bunch of books that I had grabbed off the shelves. I was just wast­ing time, wait­ing for a class to begin.  Imme­di­ately, this paint­ing caught my eye, because it wasn’t your typ­i­cal “reli­gious” art­work. In fact, it was almost too non-descript, and at first I didn’t real­ize that it was a paint­ing depict­ing any­thing sacred or religious—it just looked like a paint­ing of a few guys eat­ing lunch together. I’ve only seen this paint­ing in art books, and one day, I hope to ven­ture to the National Gallery in Lon­don and see it up close.

 That day when I caught sight of this paint­ing, it began for me a new way of see­ing Jesus. Some­thing was spe­cial about this paint­ing, made up of noth­ing more than some oils placed with some thought and skill on the can­vas. As I sat and stared at it, I real­ized why it held my atten­tion and I rec­og­nized its unique­ness. It was how the char­ac­ters looked. When I open up an art book now and flip to the paint­ing now, I real­ize that it depicts the friend­ship of God in an aston­ish­ing man­ner. Back then, you know what caught my eye? Sim­ply this, Jesus looks real. Gone is the blond hair and blue eyes. He looks like a real Hebrew guy, olive skin and all. Car­avag­gio did some­thing earth shat­ter­ing in his time as an artist—he painted Jesus like a real per­son; amaz­ingly, he looked human and real to life. In fact, very uncom­mon for his time, most of Caravaggio’s mod­els were peas­ants from local vil­lages. Instead of paint­ing the noble and the wealthy as his mod­els for John the Bap­tist, Jesus or any other bib­li­cal char­ac­ter, he was paint­ing the cob­blers, fish­er­men and maid­ens of his day, and there­fore, when it came to reli­gious art, for the first time ever, his paint­ings took on a look that was authen­tic and true.

In this paint­ing of Caravaggio’s, Jesus looks like a per­son; some­one you could know, the guy next door. He seems approach­able. This is the oper­a­tive word—Jesus in this paint­ing looks like a per­son. Before this, in the art world—for the artist, Jesus was never a person—He was just “God.” Most of the artists in this period were paint­ing the “majes­tic Christ”—the unap­proach­able Jesus, the one on the throne, the one you needed to sched­ule by appoint­ment. But none of this actu­ally cap­tured the bib­li­cal nar­ra­tive, because as we know, Jesus really is a per­son, a friend, and some­one who is very approach­able. With Caravaggio’s inter­pre­ta­tion, you see this “friend” aspect come out onto the can­vas. Jesus is just hang­ing out, eat­ing a meal and shootin’ the breeze. When I saw this paint­ing, this was in my early years of being a Chris­t­ian and this was the Jesus I wanted to get to know. You could get close to him and this was what I wanted. Unlike other reli­gious art I had seen up to that point, it cap­tured Jesus as some­one you would want to get to know. As a con­trast, go look at some of the art work from this period or ear­lier and you will notice that the char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of Jesus are oblong and uncom­fort­able. Let me illus­trate some exam­ples; you might have seen some paint­ings depict­ing Jesus like this:

  • Paint­ing No. 1: Baby Jesus is pure white and his face looks like he’s 59 years old—wrinkled and bald­ing. He wears a smirk, a bap­tismal gown and a bratty look.
  • Paint­ing No. 2: Jesus has his kingly pose, no smile, wea­ried look and it looks as if he might want to think about get­ting a pre­scrip­tion for some Prozac.

Again, these por­tray­als of Jesus’ just aren’t real­is­tic. They don’t tell the real story that the Scrip­tures tell. These works of art do not depict Jesus as he really is. How­ever, Car­avag­gio was get­ting into it, paint­ing as if he was there, sit­ting at the very table with Jesus, and show­ing you some­thing sacred and important.

This is the Jesus that we try to write about through this blog. The real one.


In: Friend to Jesus
Tags: , ,
Feb
14
2012

This Thurs­day, I am going to be doing a teach­ing for some of our staff about pre­vent­ing min­istry fail­ure. We all know lots of sto­ries of those who have been in min­istry in some capac­ity, and with one really bad deci­sion, it dra­mat­i­cally impacted their lives and min­istry.  In doing research on the topic, it made me think of this question—why do we make poor choices? Get­ting beyond the obvious–“we make poor choices because we are fallen cre­ations liv­ing in a bro­ken world”—what is it exactly in spe­cific terms that influ­ences us in mak­ing bad deci­sions for our lives?

I have made some poor choices in my life and I would guess that you have as well. Some of the deci­sions I have made have had lit­tle impact on my life and a few oth­ers have dra­mat­i­cally changed the direc­tion of my life. Some of these poor choices I made, God moved into my life and redeemed them, and with oth­ers he allowed the con­se­quences to play out and for me to learn a new lesson.

When we look through the pages of the Bible, we find lots of sto­ries of men and women who also made really bad choices for their life. Look at these sto­ries and write down some of the rea­sons these three men made a bad choice in their lives:

Judges 13–16

2 Samuel 11

Mark 14: 27–72the same sex.

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