A look at the people Jesus loves - Part 2

Click here to read part one of the series.

Jesus and religious insiders

The Pharisees' motto: We do life right! You don’t!
Color in the lines.

Drive 55 miles per hour.

Obey the rules.

Be an Eagle Scout. President of the Student Council. And while you’re at it, prom queen.

It feels good to be good. But it feels even better to have people recognize how good you are.

The Pharisees began as a renewal movement within Judaism. These were people who took God seriously. They wanted it to do their lives right. They believed that they had the rulebooks that would allow them to do their lives right:

They had rules, and then they had fences around the rules with more rules posted on them. The rule-posted fences were meant to keep people far, far away from ever violating God’s rules. After all, if you broke a rule posted on the fence, that violation (and its consequences) would keep you away from sinning big time by breaking the Laws prescribed by the Almighty Himself in the first five books of the Bible.

The Pharisees rose to prominence in the troubled centuries prior to Jesus’ birth. Though they were relatively few in number, they were the taste-makers and influencers in their society, defining what a holy life looked like. They were initially a lay-led renewal movement, but a handful of them became a part of the Jewish power structure in first century Roman society.

Professor and author Dr. Scot McKnight describes the Pharisees as “a Torah movement (group) deeply devoted to knowing, interpreting, and applying the whole Torah to the life of Israel in order to restore the fortunes of Israel.”

Jesus referenced the righteous rep of the Pharisees early in His ministry, noting that their belief system told an important piece of his story:

"Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.” – Matt. 5:17-20

Winning the Moral Life Competition with the Pharisees wasn’t Jesus’ goal for himself or anyone else. In fact, Jesus focused his ministry on interacting with spiritual outsiders, and unbending the pretzel logic that kept people away from the God the Pharisees claimed to represent to the rest of society. Many of these revered teachers of the Law turned out to be very poor students when it came to examining their own motivations.

Jesus’ most critical words were targeted at these “righteous” men who were cruel, cold and loveless. He demonstrated that this arrogant, self-satisfied form of religiosity had the kind of consequences that people had normally associated only with the behavior of extortionist tax collectors and world-weary hookers.

Though Jesus consistently showed and told the Pharisees that they were nothing more than “whited sepulchres” (a Bible way of saying that they were like rotting corpses in designer packaging), his interactions with them were always characterized by his desire for them to lose their dependence on their religious performance, and to humbly turn to God himself.

And a few of them actually did. Nicodemus, who was a member of the Jewish ruling council and a Pharisee, came to see Jesus one night. Many commentators have pointed out that the timing of this man’s visit says a lot about what was motivating him at this point. Nicodemus used the cover of the night to cloak his solo visit to Jesus. John 3 records their famous nocturnal conversation. Nicodemus queries Jesus about what he and his Pharisee posse have seen Jesus doing, and then asks Jesus to explain what he means when he tells Nicodemus that he must be born again.

Though Nicodemus isn’t mentioned again in the Gospels until after Jesus’ death (see John 19:38-42), it’s interesting to note that Nicodemus paid for the 75 pounds of spices that would be used to ready Jesus’ body for proper Jewish burial. He and another man named Joseph of Arimathea took the body and placed it an unused garden tomb.

The two men expected to return after the Sabbath to finish the burial preparations. It says something about Nicodemus’ changing values that he was willing to become ritually unclean by handling a dead body – compounding his sin in the eyes of the Pharisees by doing these acts for someone the Pharisees had long-ago branded as an enemy of the Law.

To be continued...

A look at the people Jesus loves - Part 1

We focus on a little Baby during this season. That little Baby came to us on a mission of love: "...the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost." (Luke 19:10)

I've had the opportunity to meditate deeply on just who it is that Jesus loves. Today is part one of a series that explores this topic. Read on. Some of these thoughts may surprise you:

When a graffiti artist is responsible for the writing on the wall

In recent years, there’s been a mini-torrent of books with very provocative titles written by young evangelicals:

• Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality
• My Faith So Far: A Story of Conversion and Confusion
• Plastic Jesus: Exposing the Hollowness of Comfortable Christianity
• Jesus Has Left The Building
• Tired of do-list Christianity?
• They Like Jesus But Not The Church

Evangelicals aren’t the only ones expressing this kind of spiritual fatigue. Throughout Christendom, these sorts of sentiments are the anthem of those who are tired of institutionalized religion that rewards hypocrisy, wounds the hurting, and insists that serving the purposes of their particular organization is the best (or only!) way to serve God.

The organized church didn’t woo me to faith in Christ when I was a teen. Other than a couple of visits to church services (including one memorable Midnight Mass when my very drunk friend puked all over my coat), I had little exposure to the church prior to my "conversion". What happened first in my life was seeking and being found by Jesus. Participation in church life came much, much later. That particular order of events continues to be a push back for some of the negative things I’ve experienced when it comes to the church. It’s kept me from getting completely consumed by bitterness by all the weirdness I've witnessed in the church...

...Especially when I’m honest with myself, and remember that I’m a part of the church. Gulp. Even though I want to be different more than anything, the truth is that I’ve screwed up and hurt people in some of the same dumb ways I’ve been wounded by the church. Even though I don’t want to be a part of the problem, I am part of the problem.

My perspective changes when I crouch next to Jesus so I can try to see what he sees when he looks at the church. His church. It’s not too hard to know that there’s anger and sorrow at the dunderheaded, piggish and even evil done so frequently and by so many in his name. I understand that this anger and sorrow aren’t meant to crush and shame, but to redeem and transform.

The thing is, it’s not all anger and sorrow in his eyes when he looks at his church. The Bible explains that he perceives something else there in her – something pure and true, beyond the ick - and he sees it with the unblinking certainty of someone who already knows the end of her story.

(to be continued)

Book review: Start-Up Nation

We climbed into a cab in Jerusalem early one morning and after asking where we were headed, our driver launched into an impassioned monologue about the wrong-headed thinking of some low-level bureaucrat to send the street cleaners off to work at 8 a.m. on a work day.

"They should be cleaning the streets in the middle of the night," he yelled. "They don't know what they're doing in this government. They're doing this street clenaing all wrong!"

I chalked his insistent tirade up to the chutzpah that permeates Israeli society. But Dan Senor and Saul Singer, the authors of Start-Up Nation: The Story of Israel's Economic Miracle, would see his insistence on voicing a better way to do things as key to what has made this 61-year old state become a major player on the world economic stage. Israel has more companies on the NASDAQ than all of Europe, Korea, Japan, Singapore, China and India COMBINED.

Senor and Singer explore the unique culture created by persecution, mandatory military service, the melting pot of immigration, lack of shame for business failures, cross-pollination of ideas and people, and the urgent need to learn how to survive when surrounded (and occasionally attacked) by enemies. Israel's business successes seem nonsensical - impossible, even. Start-up Nation explores the cultural, educational, social, emotional, and commercial factors that have allowed this beleagured nation to bloom in the desert. One small beef: the authors omitted the place of faith in the mix in their study of Israeli business/culture. Because faith is foundational to Israeli existence, even secular Jews are shaped by the faith culture all around them.

This highly readable, well-researched 300-page hardcover book should be mandatory reading for anyone involved in a non-profit organization or for-profit business. It is possible to foster a culture of innovation within an organization if those in charge have the chutzpah to flatten hierarchy and fight institutionalism. Recommended.

*Note: I received this book as a review copy from the publisher.

What happens in Vegas...

...stays in Vegas.

Clever ad slogan. The guts of it apply to lots of things.

During the times I experienced intense church conflict in the past, the battles were weighted in my mind with what was eternally important: theological big stuff like the proper way to preach about repentance were freighted with far more spiritual gravitas than the absurd power struggle over the placement of bulletin boards in the foyer.

That was, perhaps, my first mistake. I didn't realize that everything carried the imprint of eternity. In ways I am just beginning to understand, it was all spiritual. Even those blankety-blank bulletin boards. I learned too late just how important the trivial could become when power was at stake - and how many theological Big Issues aren't about theology at all, but about winning instead of love.

It was the news last week of the passing of one of our former pastors that reminded me afresh that church politics net both winners and losers alike the same prize - a great big nothing. This world shrinks as we're dying, and all the pointless power battles over preaching or bulletin boards stays here. Earthbound, temporary, eternally pointless. There is no eternal value in winning a round of church politics. The prize - the win - stays here, a shriveled, dusty plastic trophy. Trash.

The truth of this old saw holds: "We've only one life, `twill soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last."

Love, the air and langauge of the kingdom, lasts.

Book review: The Bible As Improv

I heard Dr. Ron Martoia speak last month at the Story Chicago conference (I mentioned him in #12 of my blog post about the event here). I happened to receive an advanced reader copy of Martoia's new book a couple of days after the conference, and was really looking forward to reading it after hearing his talk.

The Bible As Improv: Seeing & Living the Script in New Ways (Zondervan, scheduled to release in March, 2010) did not disappoint. He tackles the way most of us have learned to read and interpret the Bible, and suggests that our "Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth" cherry-pick-life-principles approach doesn't lead us or our churches to spiritual maturity. The chapter on Faith and Human Development is the hinge on which the book turns; Martoia gives an overview of James Fowler's stages of faith development in order to demonstrate what many of us have suspected all along - spiritual growth isn't a tidy upward continuum.

"I realized the Bible wasn't bringing life change to me and other the way I thought it should," Martoia writes. "In my journey toward a deeper grappling with how the Bible is supposed to work in my life, I underwent a dramatic shift in my view of how we develop as people of faith." The struggle and revelation changed not only the way he pastored, but the kinds of questions he asked of the Bible. He uses some powerful, memorable metaphors to encourage us to learn to improvise on the text and to read/discern as communities of faith. The content of The Bible As Improv was an helpful complement to Scot McKnight's Blue Parakeet (not surprising, since Martoia studied with McKnight when both were at Trinity International University).

The book's message may jar and annoy some conservative evangelicals, but I believe it's a valuable contribution to the discussion of how we can engage the text and live into God's Story.

Together In One Place

I've heard of church and community leaders coming together in the wake of a crisis (weather, violent crime) to serve and to pray. And I've heard of pastors coming together in small groups to encourage one another. Crisis or ministry affinity often brings together believers from different backgrounds and church traditions.

But yesterday's Catalyst Forum brought over 350 church and community leaders from Lake County, IL (and beyond) together for a time of spiritual refreshment and relationship-building. No crisis necessary; no other affinity point beyond the beautiful name of Jesus Christ. It was remarkable to see people from their 20's through their 70's, men and women, many ethnic groups, all together under one roof praying, laughing, worshipping, learning, eating and talking. A good number of the churches represented have come together in recent years to do all sorts of service projects in the county; others gather for prayer. But the Catalyst Forum is a unique opportunity for all sorts of Christ-following people to simply gather.

I had a wonderful "ah ha!" moment as I stood near the gym doors yesterday watching the people stream in to grab a slice of Lou Malnati's and some salad. The Lord brought a simple phrase to mind:

"When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them." - Acts: 2:1-4

They were all together in one place.

Christ's followers had been gathering to wait for the promise of the Father, as Jesus had instructed them to do. If you continue reading Acts 2, you'll see the immediate, supernatural, multi-national, multi-ethnic, explosive effect of this baptism. The church grew from 120 to 3000 in a single day.

Their obedience and their longing for Him brought them together in one place, positioning them to receive. They had no context to imagine what this promised baptism might look like, when it would come, or what would happen as a result. But they all kept showing up, these 120 people, waiting and wondering together, until Pentecost (Shavuot), the Jewish celebration of firstfruits, became a whole new event.

They were all together in one place.

This little phrase will change the way I pray for revival in Lake County. This "together in one place" thing is the first step that positions us to receive what only God can give. "Together in one place" is can be a physical act that demonstrates our individual humility and hunger for Him.

May this deeper reality saturate these "together in one place" gatherings in this county.

Mirror, mirror

‘I thank you, God, that I am not a sinner like everyone else. For I don’t cheat, I don’t sin, and I don’t commit adultery. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’ - Matthew 18:11-12 NLT

It is oh, so obvious that the religious expert who prayed that prayer is miles off from understanding himself rightly, isn't it? I revel in Jesus' contrast of this man's prayer with the prayer of the tax collector.

It occurred to me today that this self-classification I'm tempted to do when I read this story puts me in grave risk of the Pharisee's error. "I am broken, like the second guy," I tell myself in a somber voice befitting my sense of deep humility. "I'm not like that self-righteous Pharisee".

Um...really?

And just how do I assess this? Well, I am tempted to run a sort of nutty quiz in my head, like this:

(Check one)
Do I pray like that Pharisee? Yes ___ No___

Do I dress like that Pharisee? Yes___ No___

Do I perform like that Pharisee? Yes___ No___

(Fill in the blank) Who do I know who is like that Pharisee? ________

(Essay question) Why am I a better, truer and more faithful Christian than this person? __________

And that unvoiced, arrogant self-assessment completely erases my awareness of my own brokenness, and renders meaningless the rending of my garments as I sorrow over my sinfulness.

"I thank God that I'm not narrow-minded like ____"
"I thank God that I'm not open-minded like ____"
"I thank God that I don't do _____ behavior"
"I thank God that I do _______ behavior"

Ugh. This parable today was a magnifying mirror. I engage in these sorts of comparisons, all the while convincing myself that I am not a Pharisee when I do.

God have mercy on me, a sinner.

Come to the table (Part 2)

Read part one here.

True fiction for church leaders
Part 2:

The board put the PR machine in high gear – the machine Jeff had painstakingly assembled in the name of Excellent Communication – to massage the message they’d be giving the congregation about Jeff’s impending departure. Frank made sure Jeff understood that his generous severance package was tied to Jeff’s flawless performance of the leaving rituals they’d choreographed for him to execute.

“We’d prefer to tell the congregation that you and Joanna believe God is calling you both at this time in your lives to step out in faith and explore some new ministry opportunities,” Frank said.

Instead of what, Jeff wondered. The truth? That he’d been forced out?

“You’ve gone a lot recently, traveling and speaking at other churches, anyway,” Frank continued. “We want to minimize any disruption to the church life here. If you think you can handle it, we’ll call you up front so you can make a brief announcement at the end of each service this weekend. We’ll want to see the text of what you’re going to say before then. You understand.”

Jeff already knew the answer, but had to hear Frank say it. “Who’s going to preach this Sunday?”

He saw a muscle twitch in Frank’s jaw. “Chris, of course. The board is praying he’ll accept the call to become our next senior pastor.”

Oh, he’ll accept it, Jeff thought. It’s what that Judas has been working toward since I brought him here as my associate 4 years ago.

* * * * * * *

“How could they do this to me?”

Joanna was standing at the doorway of the kitchen. He hadn’t heard her come in, but she’d obviously heard his voice. “Jeff?”

He turned to face her.

“I’ve felt the same way for a long time,” she said slowly, taking a couple of steps into the room. “Years, maybe. I hated the way things were the last few years when it seemed like everyone was turning against you. Against us. I am glad our kids are gone, living on their own out of this town. Going through this would have been unbearable for them.”
He nodded. He’d had the same thought hundreds of times.

“How was your morning?” he asked.

She shrugged off her coat, tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair. Joanna had been attending a church in a town about 45 minutes from their home the last couple of months, hoping the ritual would help her heal in relative anonymity. He’d tried visiting with her, but after their second visit, he told her it was excruciating for him to sit like an uncooked pot roast in the pew, watching the show.

All he could think about were the endless meetings he and his staffers had to “produce a quality Sunday morning experience” for the people filling the padded chairs in his own…former…church each weekend. He, of course, was the main course, tasked with crafting a clever and relevant message the people would talk about with their co-workers on Monday mornings – evangelizing them with the gospel of “come to our church”. Jeff now wondered if maybe all he and the staff had been doing was repackaging little bits of the Bible into 100-calorie snack packets. “You can go if you want,” he’d told Joanna. “I need some time. Can’t handle it right now.”

He hadn’t noticed until she sat down heavily at the kitchen table that Joanna’s face was blotched and swollen and her eyes were red. “Fine. Not fine,” she said. “You know what, Jeff? You ask how they could do this to you? These last few months, I’d been asking God why he let them get away with it. I wondered why they seemed to thrive after they betrayed us the way they did,” she said.

“You used the past tense, JoJo. ‘Been asking.’ Like it’s over.”

“A lot of bad stuff has happened to us, Jeff. But I’m beginning to think we’re not just victims in this.”

He straddled the chair across the table from her. “How can you say that? After the way they screwed us…”

“I’ve been listening to people interact before and after the church service these last few weeks. No one really knows me, and it’s a great big church. I just listen…” She swallowed hard. “I hear too many of their conversations focused on the same things we’ve been consumed with the last few years. The building, the staff, the programs. I hear constant striving for position, and endless silly politics. Such a waste…”

Hackles raised, Jeff leaned across the table. “What are you saying? That none of anything we’ve done had any value? That we’ve wasted our time in ministry?”

Her voice broke. “I wanted to yell at them: All of you people want the same things we wanted at…at…” She paused, reaching for the right word. “From…our old church. They all want the same things we wanted. Frank, Chris, the rest of them... I think we’ve wasted a lot of energy trying to get something from other people that didn’t belong to any of us in the first place.” She nestled her face into her folded arms on the table and wept quietly.

The truth in her words flicked lightly across his pain like a whip, goading him…where? Jeff wanted to scream “You’re wrong! They did this to us!” but tried…and failed…to form a less-visceral response. The protest inside of him slowly dissipated until finally, his soul fell silent as he sat at the kitchen table with her, the only sound, the steady ticking of the kitchen clock.

Come to the table

If you've ever been involved in church leadership, the following work of fiction might read like a true story...

(Part 1)

Jeff was parked in his ancient recliner, wearing a shapeless pair of gray sweats and an “In It To Win It” T-Shirt. Sections of the morning’s super-size paper surrounded his chair, forming a moat of newsprint. Jeff stared at the tube as the Sunday morning talking heads debate the president’s latest economic stimulus package, each insisting they just wanted to help the American people.

At the commercial break, Jeff hit the remote. He loathed the suffocating silence in the house, but couldn’t listen to one more syllable of political grandstanding this morning. The true addiction of those rarin’-to-go pols and wonks on camera, and their sycophants pimping off-camera? A thousand meetings, alliances and brokered deals in order to score the addictive emotional cocaine of power.

“They call what they do ‘helping people’, but if any of that happens, it’s only after they’ve gotten their ego fix,” Jeff mumbled out loud. He walked into the kitchen, dumping the remains of his lukewarm coffee into the sink and fishing the last blueberry Pop-Tart out of an almost-empty box. He ate it cold while continuing impassioned sermon to his canine congregation of one.

“Man, they all use each other. They use people and spit them out when they’ve outlived their usefulness or have the misfortune of choosing the wrong allies.”

Like he had.

He tossed the dog the last bit of his untoasted toaster pastry, and the same weary incomplete thoughts crawled around the rutted track the betrayal had made around the perimeter of his mind.

He mumbled the only prayer he’d been able to say in weeks: “How could they do this to me?”

* * * * * * *

Frank’s emotionless visage told Jeff everything he needed to know when he walked into that conference room eight months ago. Frank was going to keep this cordial and businesslike, just as Jeff had always coached him to be through the years two had tackled management issues in their organization.

“You probably have some idea what this meeting is about,” Frank said.

Jeff nodded. After weeks of sensing he was about to get axed, and months before that of losing one workplace political battle after another – this, after years where everything he touched turned to gold – Jeff had steeled himself for the inevitable.

Almost robotically, Frank began his carefully-rehearsed speech, acknowledging Jeff’s years of faithful service, and how Jeff had been instrumental in building the amazing organization around them, and how difficult the decision had been, and just how sorry the entire board was to see things end this way.

“We want to make sure you’re taken care of,” Frank said, pushing a stack of papers toward him from across the conference room table. “We put together a generous package that will give you and Joanna time to figure out what’s next for the two of you. We’re grateful for your years of service to us.”

As Frank wrapped up his speech, Jeff noticed the muffled soundtrack of office activity humming in the background. He could hear the sound of the copier running. Two phones ringing. Though it was after 4 PM, the outer offices were still half-full of employees laughing, talking, finishing up their work day. Jeff had been involved in hiring each one.

And now, he was being dumped like a bad blind date. Frank had just fired him from the church he and Joanna had started in their living room 14 years earlier.

(to be continued...)

Story reprise

Slices of StoryChicago:

1. "Weakness brings liberation. Confession transforms" - Dave Gibbons
2. "Propositions will not save you." - Chris Seay
3. Note to self: Get that Frederick Buechner book already (Telling The Truth: Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale) since it keeps coming up in conversation.
4. "We censor our stories when we only talk about our success." - Mike Foster
5. A drumline is a great way to announce the beginning of a session.
6. "'Be the person God designed you to be'. I don't know what that means!" - Donald Miller
7. Musicians, story characters, communications people in a sea of macs and iphones.
8. Won a copy of Skye Jethani's Divine Commodity - and missed picking it up from under some seat at the Paramount Theater, the site of day 1 of the event because I couldn't access twitter that day. More on twitter for day two.
9. "Instructional method of preaching is a failure. It does not challenge people's perceptions of reality." - The Guy Who Wrote The Book I Won And Didn't Pick Up.
10. "The cross tells the story creation never could." - Thomas Fluharty
11. "Being convincing is salesmanship. Being compelling means people are drawn to you." - Kevin Sterner
12. "How did you get here from there?" Me, to Ron Martoia, after hearing him talk today and realizing he attended Trinity in the mid-90's.
13. My twitter account got hacked midway through day 2 of the conference. Spam Me sent my 261 followers some garbage link. I nearly cried when I saw what had happened.
14. "We dwell in the truth. We don't try to get it in deadlock." - Ben Arment
15. I would have welcomed a few more opportunities experience others' stories (short video vignettes of slice-of-life stories, artwork, a wall with graffittied praises, stories from other cultures?) as part of the mix.
16. It was a typical evangelical conference. And it wasn't anything like a typical conference. Mostly the latter! Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to be there. Help me to use what I've learned, seen, felt to encourage others and honor You.
17. Grateful, grateful, grateful.

The fact that I could list so many quotes from the event (above) should tell you how much I enjoyed the event. I rarely take notes anywhere I go, but I took notes for two whole days. I didn't even take two whole days of notes during two years of full-time college.

Listen to the Quiet - and contest info!

Listen to the Quiet

---

I love the sound of a house full of kids. (Well, most of the time, anyway!) As my children neared adulthood, I wondered how I'd handle the echoing silence of an empty nest.

Perhaps "wondered" is too mild a word. I feared the silence. I was mourning the end of my active parenting years, to be sure, but the truth was that my dread was deeply rooted in some painful early experiences with loneliness. That loneliness resulted in unwelcome, unwanted silence. I honesty didn't believe there could be any other kind of silence.

During this time, I had the opportunity to go on my first guided, mostly-silent retreat. I was simultaneously introduced to the delight of extended meditation on a single passage of Scripture. As I embraced the spiritual discipline of solitude, God brought me face-to-face with some of the familiar old hurts that had previously motivated me to avoid silence at all costs. I discovered that silence does not equal loneliness. It can be rich with God's presence.

The psalmist sang these familiar words from the heart of God to each of us used to tuning our lives to the cacophony around us: "Be still, and know that I am God!" (Ps. 46:10) To paraphrase His imperative invitation: "Shhh...come, listen to the quiet so you can more fully experience and respond to who He is."

Over the last few weeks, several people in my life have remarked that they'd welcome an opportunity to participate in a "mostly silent" retreat. As a result, I'd like to know if there are others living in the Chicago-Milwaukee area interested in gathering for a "Listen to the Quiet" 24-hour retreat either February 26-27 or March 5-6, 2010. Location (probably at a retreat space somewhere in S.E. Wisconsin) is yet to be determined. Cost including 3 meals, will likely run in the $60-70 range. A "mostly silent" retreat means there will be time at the beginning and end for prayer, worship and fellowship, but that the core of your time will be spent in silence shaped by a bit of devotional instruction on how to enter into your time of quiet with the Lord.

If you're interested in participating in the "Listen to the Quiet" retreat - or simply knowing more as plans are finalized - please e-mail me (mishvl@yahoo.com) no later than Saturday, November 14.

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Your opportunity to win!

This fall, two different projects to which I contributed have released. The first is a gift devotional for women entitled Quiet Reflections of Hope (Baker/Revell). This simple, thoughtful volume offers busy women a bit of focused time with the Lord each morning. The second is the beautiful Holy Bible: Mosaic (Tyndale). This gorgeous Bible offers writings and artwork from believers from every century and continent. You can read more about this Bible here.

I'd like to send one reader two copies of Quiet Reflections of Hope, and one reader two copies of Holy Bible: Mosaic. Each winner will have one volume to keep and one to share with a friend. (Or, if you're feeling especially generous, two copies to give away!) Simply e-mail me at mishvl@yahoo.com before Saturday, November 14 with the subject line "Drawing". Please include your mailing address in your e-mail.

Review: Can God Be Trusted?

With a title like Can God Be Trusted? (FaithWords/Hachette), I imagined the content of Father Thomas Williams' book could be summed up in four words: Yes. So do it. The plain white cover of the hardcover volume didn't do much to convince me that the book was going to be anything more than a restatement of those four words for 206 long pages.

My first impressions were wrong. Williams, a professor of theology at Regina Apostolorum Pontifical University in Rome and a Vatican analyst for CBS News, offers a gentle, accessible and thorough exploration of the nature of trust in this volume. Penned for a popular audience, Williams tackles topics including the downside of distrust, God's rivals for our trust, what to do when God lets you down, and God's trust in us. Williams explains, "...we are not called to diminish our desires, but to enlarge them. In the end, we need to be more audacious with God, not less. We need to think big, bigger than we ever have before. Strange as it may seem, we always expect too little of God, and never too much."

I struggle to trust God and other people. My once-childlike trust in God has been enclosed in thick layers of callouses in order to protect myself from further hurt. Williams' kind, encouraging pastoral voice and an approach that was both intelligent and simple had a healing effect on me as I read. Can God Be Trusted? is a very worthwhile read for anyone who is weary of the weight of their own callouses. Recommended.

(Note: This review copy was provided me by the publisher.)

Three Days (1, 2, 3) re-post

The series below was originally posted in early July of this year, but one of the posts has been hacked, so I'm reposting the set of three here and deleting the original series.

Enjoy a fresh perspective on this Scriptural account.

THREE DAYS
(part 1)
After the rumored resurrection of Jesus son of Joseph, the strange little sect known as The Way had experienced a stunning resurgence across Jerusalem.

This.
could.
not.
continue.

The city's elders dragged Stephen, one of the group's ringleaders, outside the city gates to execute the Law's justice with hurled stones, then seized the moment to finish off this wrong Way once and for all. They launched fiery, ambitious young proteges on a mission to root out every single follower of the heretic rabbi, convinced that these mostly fringe people posed a Defcon 5 threat to more than a thousand years of Jewish faith and tradition.

A young Saul made a name for himself as a dedicated member of the A-team, ferreting out followers of Jesus in the city and bodily dragging them to jail. And then, the ultimate company boy asked for extra credit homework from no less than the Big Kahuna himself, the High Priest: letters he could carry a week's journey to Damascus to the synagogues there, explaining his mission, enlisting help so he could continue his Rambo-like campaign to ferret out the both male and female rats that had scattered from Jerusalem.

Damascus was near when out of a quiet blue sky a white hot-bright ball of light enveloped him - an explosion. He fell to the ground, a mortally-wounded soldier. In the confusion, a rumble carrying echoes of a roar. Saul writhed like a newborn baby exposed to the elements for the first time. Flat on his back on the hard-packed road, he stared directly into the high noon sun without blinking, and whispered "Who are you, Lord?"

The contingent with him stepped back in fear and confusion, the sound of thunder piercing the cloudless sky. When he staggered to his feet a few moments later, he waved his arms wildly looking for balance but finding none. One of his companions rushed to Saul's side. Saul grabbed onto him, steadying himself. His pupils were as wide as platters.

But he couldn't see a thing.

(part 2)
The contingent headed toward Damascus was now without its general. It wasn't just his sudden blindness after the disorienting encounter on the road from Jerusalem that drained the burning bile from Saul's leadership. It was the Voice he heard in the flash and thunder: "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?"

The Voice knew his name. The Voice knew what he'd done.

"Who are you, Lord?" he whispered. Those on the road with him could taste the fear in Saul's words. If there was an answer given, it was drowned in the sudden downpour of thunder enveloping their visionary leader.

And then, it was over. All was silent. Dazed, Saul staggered to his feet, and rubbed at his eyes. Then he rubbed harder, stumbling in sloppy circles until he bumped into one of his terrified traveling companions. Saul grabbed the man's cloak in his mid-day darkness. "Did you hear what He said to me? Did you hear?"

Saul had been a heat-seeking missile, bent on eradicating the cult of Jesus from his beloved Damascus as a demonstration of his fealty to all-important religious elites in Jerusalem. And now, after the storm, He told his companions He'd spoken with Jesus. The blind man stood weeping in the middle of the road, hands raised in surrender.

What?

Fragments of confused, angry diagnoses now spilled into the silence after the storm from the others: "Demon", "Fever", "Heatstroke", "Spy". The chaos built around the weeping Saul like another storm until he was able to pull himself together enough to speak. "We're going to Damascus. He told me to go there and wait for further instructions."

The rest of the group shook their heads in disagreement. But there was no where else to go at this point of the journey except to Damascus. Two of them reluctantly reached to take Saul's hands...

(part 3)
There were a few chaotic moments when the head rabbi of the synagogue in Damascus walked into the courtyard to greet his guests from Jerusalem. A dozen voices tossed a confused confetti of words into the air, recounting the sudden ambush of their spiritual general, Saul.

"He was attacked by a demon," some yelled. The adrenalized frenzy of their near-miss with a representative of the netherworld filled the air.

"There must be some hidden sin in his life," others cried. One young man tore at his garment in grief over the idea that his battalion leader had fallen.

Saul stood silent, his unblinking stare fixed beyond them at the setting sun. The military man had been rendered a dove, placid after his initial confusion on the road. He listened now, a habit he'd not cultivated to this point in his life. He'd lost track of time in his new darkness, but recognized the song the birds began to sing at the end of day's light. The prayer he'd prayed at least three times a day for as long as he could remember surfaced in his soul, a breath. A heartbeat.

"Oh Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare Your praise..." He paused, his companion's cacophony swirling around him. He closed his mouth, his silence a prayer.

The voices of his companions and the rabbi calmed suddenly, as the group began to recite the same prayer he'd begun. He listened mutely, and as soon as the group had sung their final amen, their voices stayed low as they began to murmur together. A plan was being formulated on his behalf.

"We're going to have you rest here for a few days, friend." A voice with a Damascus accent was speaking to him as if he was an idiot. "We'll send for a doctor, and my wife will prepare you foods that will restore your strength. Perhaps this is temporary..."

Saul shook his head. "Thank you for your kindness. I will try to rest, but I will not eat. I must wait and pray for what will come next." Because something would come next. He could not imagine what...or when. Though he couldn't see, what he wanted above all was to hear the forgiveness and fire of that Voice again.

They led him into a secluded room in a far corner of the house. The next 72 hours were a blur of the religious elites of Damascus coming and going, praying and chattering and diagnosing and gossiping. The news of Saul's affliction spread like wildfire through the Jewish community in Damascus. Those who'd accompanied Saul from Jerusalem put their mission on hold while they debated about how to proceed from this point forward. Saul was useless to them, what with his seeming capitulation to the other side and his refusal to take even a single sip of water by the third day of his fast. He still looked like a man on a mission...but now it had all the marks of a suicide mission.

Prayer in his darkness, hunger and thirst focusing Saul's insistent imprecations until his body began to pull in on itself, his brain fogging from dehydration by the end of the third day. The darkness wasn't just outside of him. It was inside of him. It had always been so, but he'd called his darkness light and insisted it was good.

He was too dry to weep.

He couldn't go back to the life before the flash and the Voice. And he couldn't go forward until he heard the Voice again. Of that, he was sure. Even if he perished before the Voice spoke to him, he knew he'd hear the Voice for eternity, sitting at the right hand of the Father.

Anaias of Damascus, Christ-follower, marched into the lion's den after the Lord spoke to him in a vision, asking him to to do so. Empowered by the Voice, he strode up to the still figure with the vacant stare laying on a pallet in the corner of the rabbi's house. Ananias spoke with authority to this man who'd been sent to the city to punish him and all the other followers of The Way just like him.

Placing his hands on Saul, he said, "Brother Saul, the Lord—Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here—has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit." Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul's eyes, and he could see again. He got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. (Acts 9:17-19)

After a lifetime that lasted three days, Saul could see. And simultaneously, his hearing was 20/20. The Voice had come once again to him. Saul's interior was immersed in Him, forgiveness rushing into his soul as if a dam had broken.

A resurrection of a dead Man after three days - the parallel to his own experience from flash to filling could never be captured in human language. But the Voice expressed it with a single Name: Jesus.

Review: Return Policy

Michael Snyder's Return Policy (Zondervan) follows the stories of three people who'd never typically connect with one another, much less change each other's lives: Wally, a burned-out, grieving novelist; Ozena, a single mom of a special needs child and customer service rep; and Shaq, a homeless man with a serious case of post-traumatic stress disorder. An unseen Hand much more powerful than the pain these ordinary people carry brings the three lives together in order to craft healing from each one's loss.

Snyder allows each character to tell his or her story by writing each one's narrative in the first person. He does an admirable job giving each one a distinct voice, though many readers may find it challenging to keep changing gears at the start of each short chapter. I found myself reviewing ("What did Ozena say about this the last time she had a chapter in this story?") in order to make sense of what I was reading. There are moments where the book feels like a point-of-view exercise in a creative writing workshop, particularly in the first half of the novel, but the surprising beauty of the story overcomes those moments with something more lingering: a portrait of the restoration that is possible after tragedy shatters a life.

Until death do us part

It was the 1970's, and as a refection of the times, we wrote our own vows for our wedding. I have copies of what we promised each other that warm Sunday afternoon, but for the life of me, I can't remember a syllable of what either of us vowed that day. It is a good thing that God remembers not only our words, but the intent of our hearts.

After 30 years together, Bill and I both agree that the classic vow captures every facet of what it means to be married:
"...to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."

We had a wonderful anniversary celebration: We went to dinner the night of our anniversary to Allegauer's Fireside, the place where our combo wedding/reception was held. The next day, we headed to the beautiful Castle In The Country for a couple of days of pampering and celebration.

I am a grateful woman. I have been married to my best friend for 30 years - and will continue to walk side-by-side with him, serving the Lord, until death do us part.

Fire from heaven

"As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?" (Luke 9:51-55)

They'd not only seen Jesus do miracles, they'd done them in His name as well. immediately prior to this journey toward Jerusalem, James and John had witnessed the transfiguration. They'd been living as citizens of the kingdom of heaven.

But they held two passports, dual citizenship. As these Jewish men passed into Samaritan territory, the habits and prejudices they carried deep in their own DNA surfaced in a flash, triggered by the Samaritans' deep-seated prejudice against them. The offense sparked a militant response from James and John, Jewish citizens, and they grabbed for the big guns from the armory of their other kingdom.

Which showed, perhaps, that they didn't truly understand the power of that other kingdom at all.

Jesus demonstrated the way His kingdom's weapons are meant to be used. ^"...Jesus turned and rebuked them, and they went to another village." (Luke 9:55-56)

That's it. They left without a fight. The village remained a no-smoking zone. In fact, the only lit match may have been found in the rebuke Jesus gave His followers - He corrected them with the kind of fire meant to purify motives and quench impulsive response. The walk to the next village was a prophetic review: Turn the other cheek. Go another mile.

Walk on, friends.

Review: A Million Miles In A Thousand Years

When I first began working at the Trinity Bookstore in 2004, Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz had been out for a few months and was just beginning to catch on via the best advertising of all, positive word-of-mouth. I grabbed it off the shelf, read it, lovedlovedloved it, and foisted it on all sorts of unsuspecting customers and fellow staffers. Miller's irreverently reverent, messy journey and distinctive writing voice resonated with me.

It resonated with hundreds of thousands of others. The book was an evangelical publishing phenomenon, and turned Miller into a Name. His follow-up releases (including a revision of a book he'd penned prior to writing Blue Like Jazz) were good, but never quite captured the evangelical cultural ennui of his big breakout book.

It was only a matter of time before someone, somewhere decided to obtain movie rights to Miller's seminal spiritual memoir. Blue Like Jazz was a series of colorful episodes strung together like mismatched beads. In fact, the book's subtitle is "Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality"; not exactly a recipe for a movie plot. But the people who optioned the film rights sent a couple of writers to work with Miller to pull story out of "nonreligious thoughts". His new book, A Million Miles In A Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life, tells the story of what happened to him during this process.

I kind of expected this book to be a self-indulgent exercise, to be frank. Come on - a book about turning a best seller about your life into a movie about your life? I wondered if Miller's writing career and/or ego had jumped the shark.

Though there are whiffs of self-indulgence here and there, they are mercifully faint. What is here is a valuable first-person exploration of the components of story as Miller was learning and living them. A Million Miles In A Thousand Years is an enjoyable read for anyone involved in storying: pastors, writers, teachers, visual communicators. It provides a few ah-ha! moments about the elements of story applied to life from the pen of a really good writer who is willing, once again, to tell his own story to all of us.

Day of atonement prayer request

The holiest day of the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur, begins at sundown tonight. (You can read God's prescribed order for the day here.) On the tenth day of the seventh month, the high priest would disappear behind the curtain leading into the Holy of Holies to intercede for his people. Only on this day each year could the priest come before God on behalf of a repentant people to seek absolution of the previous year's sins against Him and one another.

I remember the shock I felt this first time I read this. Please join me in praying that others of my people will hear the sound of the torn curtain as they seek God this Yom Kippur.

What am I missing?

What makes the Church dangerous?
In no particular order:
1. Love
2. Rabid intentionality about reflecting the risen Christ in deed and word, in that order
3. Signs and wonders
4. Communion
5. Meaningful spiritual friendships
6. Learning put into practice
7. Prayer
8. Its children and teens
9. Gracious countercultural lifestyle
10. Corporate worship as the starting line
11. Generosity
12. Service/justice
13. Mess
14. Truth
The more of the above-listed dangerous things that exist in a local congregation, the safer I feel.

On the other hand...
What makes a congregation dangerous?
Again, in no particular order:
A. Cliques
B. Institutionalism / "...but we've always doen it this way..."
C. Favoritism, nepotism
D. Unwritten rules
E. Lies
F. Agendas masquerading as sermons
G. Unteachable leaders
H. Ignoring or pandering to children and teens
I. Gossip
J. Pastors with money or sex secrets
K. Inhospitablity
L. Demonizing all opposition
M. Focus on appearances
N. Control

What would you add to either of these lists?

Two reviews from the top of the stack...

Philip Yancey's introspective, wise writing has been both a mirror and a pair of binoculars in my life. The reflective nature of his work has forced me to take a good look at myself in Disappointment With God; the binocular view of the struggles of others in Pain: The Gift Nobody Wants. But the truth is that most all of his beautifully-crafted writing is both mirror and binoculars. I've been a fan since his days writing for Campus Life magazine in the 1970's.

Grace Notes: Daily Readings With A Fellow Pilgrim (Zondervan) offers up 366 daily one-page readings from Yancey's prolific career (so far). The readings center on themes like faith, prayer, forgiveness, suffering, church and grace, and are arranged will sensitivity to the days and seasons of the year. For example, the September 11 and 12 entries both offer reflections on the grace Yancey discovered at New York's Ground Zero in 2001.

The simple volume would make a perfect gift for a Yancey fan or a friend who values the kind of thought-provoking, soul-surprising writing that is both mirror and binoculars.

* * * *

I liked Pete Gall's first book, the memoir entitled My Beautiful Idol enough to write and tell him so. His funny, messy journey from his job in the advertising industry to world-changer bound to set the world on fire to burned-out ex-superhero was well-written and honest. Gall is back with the next chapter of his story-in-progress: Learning My Name (Zondervan).

Story-in-progress most definitely captures the feel of this book. It does not have a neat resolution featuring the five alliterative steps he took to get fixed. Instead, Gall's quest for emotional, physical and spiritual health form the narrative of this extremely personal, confessional memoir. Gall is battling obesity, and he begins the journey toward wholeness as he faces down the why of his condition.

His father's introduction at the beginning of the book brought me to tears. It alone is worth the price of the book.

This was not an easy book to read. Part of me wanted to walk away from the book, to cover Gall somehow - the confessions are so intimate and his wounds so raw that I found myself worried for the very public way in which he is processing his pain in real time. The other part of me, however, felt welcomed into the naked mess of his story. I am broken, too.

Gall is not certain whether his story will have a happy ending. He hopes so, but that hope is not the Braveheart triumphalistic kind of hope that we tend to see in Christian books. It's small and uncertain, and it's a costly kind of offering that actually looks more like true worship than a lot of the bombast that passes for it in other circles.

If you or someone you know is battling an addiction or facing down their own brokenness, this book might be a helpful companion. Even without the certainty of a happy ending.

Or maybe, especially because of it.

In just five days...

This coming Tuesday, September 22 is the official release date of a beautiful new Bible.

HOLY BIBLE: MOSAIC is unlike any Bible you’ve ever seen…

Gorgeous, incredible artwork from the 3^rd to 21^st centuries from every continent across the globe.

Moving and thought-provoking writings from the 1^st to 21^st centuries from every continent and branch of the Church around the world.

Both artwork and writings follow the Church calendar throughout the year starting with Advent (Sunday, November 29, 2009).

How do I know about HOLY BIBLE: MOSAIC? Well, I had the privilege of serving as a contributing writer for this exciting new Bible.

I can’t wait to tell you more! Please be sure to click on the cover artwork below and/or sign up at www.HolyBibleMosaic.com.

PS Whatever you do, please do NOT buy a copy of this Bible on Amazon—at least not yet. I’ll explain why early next week.

It happened one Shabbat...

I am deeply fascinated by the stories Jesus told. Imagine what it would be like to be in the room the first time He told this story.

Here's how it might have gone:

...In all his years of service to Avishai, Yigal couldn’t remember his master ever inviting this kind into his home. Though the room was packed with clusters of men engaged in animated pre-dinner conversations, Avishai’s “guest” stood alone in a corner. He looked as out of place as a python in a birdcage. Yigal couldn’t imagine he’d really stick around for the meal.

Even now, Avishai, a man known for his discriminating taste in righteousness, was orchestrating the seating arrangement in the crowded room. He shot a welcoming glance toward one of his protégés, Shmuel, giving the young man a subtle nod. Yigal watched as Shmuel caught the nod with a broad smile, maneuvering through the warm, noisy space toward his reward: a first-time spot at Avishai’s head table. Apparently, Shmuel had given himself a promotion this week. One of Shmuel’s friends followed in his wake, claiming the last spot at the table. It was a plum social score for the pair.

This act served as today’s cue for the other men in the room to sort themselves around the low tables ringing three sides of the room. V.I.P’s up front, lesser lights in less-desirable seats. Moving up in position at these gatherings usually came in increments, though rising stars like Shmuel found ways to circumvent the usual process.

Everyone managed to find a spot except the strange visitor tucked into the far corner of the room. Despite his greasy beard, he looked like a woman heavy with child, his hunched posture accentuating his grotesquely distended abdomen. The room’s tsks of disapproval at the untouchable man’s presence rustled like dry leaves across the mosaic floor. What on earth was this disgusting man doing in the same room with them?

From his post just outside the doorway behind his master’s table, Yigal could almost taste the untouchable man’s excruciating sense of humiliation. Yigal’s soul offered up word-incense for the man: “O God, please…have mercy on him.” He knew the religious professionals in the room had pronounced this man, and all others like him, guilty of sin. If it were otherwise, those second-class, no-class creatures would be enjoying God’s blessing of good health.

Yigal couldn’t understand why Avishai had “invited” this man to today’s Sabbath meal. Avishai was a very pure man, a professional’s professional. Having someone like this man in the house would surely defile the sacredness of the space. There must be a reason that Avishai was willing to risk infecting his home’s whitewashed purity this day, when thousands of other days had been uncontaminated by sinners like this man.

But what could that reason be?

Yigal has served Avishai for years, assisting Avishai as he sculpted his life with rules the same way the Roman wrestlers sculpted their bodies with their extreme, punishing training regimens. Avishai’s reputation for professional righteousness was the stuff of legend.

Yigal was surprised earlier that week when Avishai had mentioned that a different guest, Yeshua…Jesus, would be joining them for today’s gathering. Avishai and his cadre had been dissecting this upstart rabbi’s words and motives in their never-ending debates in recent weeks and found him lacking. However, Avishai had insisted Jesus join him today at the head table. Jesus laughed as he and Shmuel conversed.

As if on cue, one or two at a time, the raucous discussions in the room fell silent as the men looked expectantly toward the head table. Yigal took a step into the room, watching intently for Avishai’s nod so he could begin the task of serving the Shabbat meal. Avishai shook his head almost imperceptibly, warning Yigal off. Not yet.

Avishai pointed toward the swollen, deformed man in the far corner of the room, motioning him to the open center of the crowded room. The man swallowed hard and obeyed.

“What about today, Jesus? You wouldn’t heal a man like this on Shabbat?” Avishai’s question wasn’t a question, but a challenge.

A quiet murmur of approval rippled through those righteous, healthy men ringing the tables in the room. No one questioned Jesus’ reputation as a healer. Word had spread like a firestorm about his miracle ways. But everyone knew that there were six other days in a week in which to attempt the work of re-creation. After all, God Himself rested from labor on the seventh day.

Now Yigal understood why this man had been invited. It was a trap, a set-up.

“Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?”(Luke 14:3) Jesus question was the kind of thing Avishai and his other high-ranking religious professionals loved to debate. That they’d never been called upon to heal was irrelevant to their discussions; instead, they volleyed a question amongst themselves for years, launching it to one another with “what if?” and “what then?”, all the while closing possible loopholes in their answers as if they were tightening a hangman’s noose.

There was no debate in this moment. Even the air in the room seemed to be holding its breath. Jesus rose from his place and walked over to the man, placing one hand on his head. A benediction. He touched his other hand to the man’s swollen midsection, a wordless invocation. As he did, the man’s distended belly deflated.

The men ringing the room’s perimeter erupted into furious analysis with one another, burying the miracle in a slag heap of words.

Until this moment, these animated discussions had always fascinated Yigal. He longed for the kind of righteousness Avishai enjoyed, and hoped…somehow…that Avishai’s life and knowledge had polished his own rough virtue into something he could offer the Almighty.

Melting to his knees in an attitude of prayer, Yigal trembled like a newborn exposed to the elements as he alone watched the two men in the center of the room. They were seemingly oblivious to the commotion swirling around them. The healed man was weeping, laughing, thanking God. Jesus responded with pure delight in the man’s unfettered joy. This delight was so terrifyingly beautiful and intimate that Yigal covered his face with his hands and whispered, “O God, have mercy on me.”

Jesus took His eyes off of the man and spoke. His words sliced through the uproar in the room like a sword. “If one of you has a son or an ox that falls into a well on the Sabbath day, will you not immediately pull him out?” (Luke 14:5)

Again, stunned silence. No one dared voice a jot or tittle of dissent. Jesus spoke into that silence with a pair of parables meant to rescue a roomful of men trapped in a well they – and their forefathers – had been digging for generations:
A guest at a wedding reception marches up to the head table and grabs a prime seat, only to be very publicly asked to move so someone more important to the host’s family can be seated there OR An honored guest comes to a wedding reception and takes a seat at the far edge of the festivities. Spotting him across the crowded room, the stunned host rushes over to the guest, wrapping his arm around the guest’s shoulders and escorting him to the head table.

A host invites only his friends, family and wealthy neighbors to his parties, ensuring the reciprocation he craves will be immediate, temporary…and ultimately worthless OR A host invites the sick, the broken and the poor to the party of the year without ever expecting payback. Surprise! At the end of time, there will be justice; a blessing from One hosting a very different kind of banquet.

The truth hinging this pair of parables together? “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted." (vs.11)

There was palpable discomfort in the room. There were no deep hidden meanings in these stories, waiting to be excavated through years of academic debate and endless discussion. Jesus had wiped away the “we’ve always done it this way” seating chart of privilege, politics and power with his words.

Even as Avishai’s brilliant protégé posed a loophole-seeking question in response, Yigal closed his eyes and reached in prayer for his rescuer’s hand.

Home schooling's "Great Omission"

"Will you home school me?" We could no longer ignore our kindergarden son's frequently-repeated question. His overcrowded classroom left his harried teacher herding far too many 5 and 6 year olds through activities meant to fill time, rather than educate. I worked at the school as a playground supervisor and was involved with both the parent-teacher association and with a group of moms who gathered in my living room to pray for the staff each week. I was committed to making public education work for our children.

Except it wasn't working. Both of our kids enrolled in the school were a little frayed and a little bored. I'd taught both of them to read, and regularly worked with them at our kitchen table doing academic enrichment activities. I often felt like I was running an after-hours, parallel universe school in our home.

A couple of other families in our church were home schooling. I met with them to pick their brains, asking questions about socialization, curriculum, laws, and support groups. And then my husband and I headed to a home school conference. We heard a lot about how to teach our children - and we heard some very convincing arguments about why we needed to teach them at home. These reasons included Deuteronomy 6:4-9, public education's aggressively secular humanist agenda, a conservative (and sometimes revisionist) view of American history, the almost ironclad guarantee of a better educational and spiritual outcome for home schooled kids, and worry about pub school pagan peers possessing an unwelcome host of nasty social and spiritual habits. In varying measures, we shared each of those concerns.

There was one caveat no one mentioned at that event - or any of the many subsequent home schooling conferences we attended during our years of home schooling (1992-2004). It was, perhaps, a truth that should have been self-evident from the intense, sometimes extreme convictions expressed with great confidence by many of the movement's microphone-holders and authors about everything from dress to diet, from home birth to home business. It was the Great Omission that families considering home schooling desperately need to hear in order to put their journey in a healthy context.

This Great Omission? That by making the choice to avoid immersing your child in an environment filled with "pagan" peers, you may well be teaching your child to swim in a pool of a different kind. That pool may be filled with Pharisees - legalistic, fear-driven and reactionary. You will have to deal with one or the other no matter how you train up your children.

Please hear me - not all home schooling families are Pharisees by any stretch of the imagination, any more than public schools are crawling with pagans. However, each academic option's vociferous spokespeople tend to be the most opinionated ones. When we first began home schooling, we were grateful for the traction we got from the strong convictions of those "leading" the home school movement back then. Home schooling is a trail-less uphill climb. You need some strong convictions to launch into - and continue - that journey. Unfortunately, a good number of people we met during that journey were happy to substitute fear (of all the evils spoken of by the micophone holders) for convictions. I can certainly see places in our journey where we took that shortcut. I grieve the sour effect that Pharisaiism had in our family. It proved to be just as toxic as paganism.

I would home school again in a moment. The benefits far outweigh the liabilities. But I would go in with eyes wide open: our classroom is inside a fallen world, and a number of our fellow students will deal with their brokenness by ignoring God or creating Him in their own image. And I will not be surprised by this, since seeds of both sinful choices - paganism and Pharisaism - reside inside of me.

Parents, what has your experience been with the educational option you've chosen for your family?

Hey lady, call the Fire Department to extinguish the fire in your bones

Yesterday's announcement from the nice people at Zondervan that they were going to suspend publication of the TNIV provoked intense reaction from its readers across the theological spectrum. One of the most virulent I read came from an egalitarian Christian woman who felt as though the decision diminished her ministry and was an attempt to muzzle her identity.

Whoa.

In the interest of fair disclosure, I must tell you I've never been a fan of the version. When it released, I was working at the Trinity Bookstore, and I had to keep a stone face when discussing its merits with customers. I'm a NASB girl, with some NLT and Message stirred into the mix. As my husband pointed out yesterday, we should all be thanking God we have Bibles - period. The fact that we have choices is gilding on the lily.

That revealed, I can't stop thinking about the intense anger I heard from my sister in the Lord. Though I don't know her personally, I understood she was reacting to a religious culture that has sometimes marginalized women. In her honor today, I am posting the introduction from the chapter about women in the church from in my book trapped in publishing no-man's-land (The Church For Skeptics: A Conversation For Thinking People).

Hey lady, call the Fire Department to extinguish that fire in your bones

Six year-old Nancy arranged her entire collection of stuffed animals in rows and then stood in front of them with her Just 4 Kids Bible in her hands. Most little girls cuddled their stuffed critters. Nancy preached to hers. “God doesn’t want just a part of your life. He wants all of you.”

She was getting warmed up, but she could tell it was going to be a good sermon today. She got that burning feeling deep in the marrow of her bones when she was preaching to her bears, puppies and the giant giraffe her mom and dad gave after she got her appendix removed last summer. Her own sermon moved her to kneel in front of her stuffed congregation and pray, “Lord, you can have all of me.” In that moment, she felt sure of it. She would grow up and become a preacher. She felt God smile at her.

Nancy’s family attended a very conservative church where all the leadership was male. Nancy learned early that good Christian women could best use the gifts God had given them by being good wives and homemakers. She learned that church women were supposed to enjoy teacups and scrapbooking and sentimental messages about hearth and home. She loved God, and wanted to feel His smile on her life always. So she learned to be a good Christian woman.

Nancy married young and settled into her assigned role in the church, attending Christmas cookie exchanges and Mother’s Day luncheons. Her leadership gifts eventually placed her as the head of women’s ministries at her church. This meant she was responsible for creating social events like the ones she’d attended her whole life long. It also meant she was responsible for coordinating the yearly women’s retreat where she’d invite a prim outside speaker who usually spent most of her preaching time exhorting the women to be submissive keepers at home.

Nancy helped lead the weekly women’s Bible study, and discovered how much she enjoyed digging past the workbook questions into the rich soil of Scripture. She’d do a devotional introduction to the material each week, and would feel the marrow of her bones warming as she shared what God had been teaching her.

Change of plans

But Nancy had muffled the calling she’d felt as a young girl, and didn’t dwell on it in her busy “keeper at home and head of women’s ministries at church” life…until one year, the retreat speaker cancelled at the last moment. Nancy stepped into the role of keynote speaker as if she’d been training for it her whole life. Though the response from the women was incredible, what lingered in her was the sense that she was doing exactly what she’d been created to do in the body of Christ.

Nancy began receiving invitations to speak at other women’s retreats. Her husband was fairly supportive, which enabled her to use her spiritual gifts to encourage other women to connect with God more deeply. Whenever she spoke, she felt the fire in her bones she first felt that day she ministered to her stuffed animals.

But in the aftermath of these speaking invitations, she found herself quietly questioning some of the assumptions she’d always believed were true and Biblical:

• “Women may teach other women, and of course, children. Women can teach boys, but must never teach men.”
• “Women must be meek and submissive to the men in her life, as they’re in authority over her.”
• “Women of course have equal value before God, but are assigned different roles in the Body of Christ.”
• “All women preachers are feminists”

Were these things true? Nancy had believed these things for years, but wondered how it could be that a few conservative evangelical women slipped past these restrictions without being shunned by the rest of the tribe. Billy Graham’s own daughter, Anne Graham Lotz was a woman preacher who spoke regularly to large crowds of men and women. Bible teachers like Beth Moore and Kay Arthur began their ministries by teaching women only, but drew men who appreciated their skill and insight.

Female missionaries in Nancy’s denomination had been responsible for planting numerous churches on foreign soil. It had always been explained to Nancy that God would use a woman if he couldn’t find a man to do the job. But when one of these missionaries visited Nancy’s church, the pastor allowed her a few minutes during the Sunday morning service to “share” her work. She was supposed to tell a couple of missionary stories, but the woman opened her Bible, and preached a 15 minute sermon, using her stories of life in a foreign culture as sermon illustrations.

Some of the churches at which Nancy had been invited to speak had women preachers. She’d once wondered if these churches had capitulated to feminism and had compromised their biblical authority, but as she visited with the church staffers, she discovered that these congregations were just as committed to the gospel as her more conservative home church was.

Nancy didn’t quite know what to do with her questions about women in ministry. Though her husband had been quietly supportive of her speaking engagements, she also knew he basically agreed with the men at church who tossed misogynist comments into casual conversation with one another: “She’s just a feminazi”, “Women should be seen and not heard” and “Remember the good old days when the father was the head of the house and the mother stayed home barefoot and pregnant to raise the children?”

Though these attitudes had always been present among the men (and pretty much all of the women) at church, Nancy began to notice how much these careless comments smarted, inflaming the questions that kept forming within her. Were these patronizing attitudes the way God saw her, too? She knew His answer was no. No, no, no. So with increasing frequency, Nancy found herself swallowing hard, hoping she could find a way to gulp down her questions and figure out how to quench that fire in her bones at the same time.

Question, dear readers of both genders: Have you experienced this dynamic at your church? How have you handled it if you have?