Things Beside the Point . . .

One of the most conspicuous features of Mark's Gospel is its pace. Things happen quickly. Amongst the four evangelists, Mark's work is akin to an action movie. Not a moment is wasted. There is little actual teaching in Mark. We see more of Jesus doing and moving than Jesus saying. He's heading toward Jerusalem, and more specifically, the cross. We learn this as readers in Mark 8:31: "Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering . . ." This occurs roughly midway through the narrative. No wonder many scholars refer to Mark as a passion narrative with an extended introduction. Jesus has a destination and proceeds toward it--and please pardon the pun--with a relentless passion. It seems, then, that Jesus is very goal-minded. The whole point of his ministry is to reach Jerusalem, the cross, and the destiny that he came to fulfill for us all.

Some of his disciples, it would seem, were also very goal-minded. They too were looking to the future and to what they thought the point of Jesus' ministry ought to be. In Mark 10 James and John, Jesus' second pair of converts, approach Jesus with a request: "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." Jesus' response, though oblique, proves that they had no idea who Jesus really is and what it will take for them to sit with him in his glory. They wanted power, influence, authority. A certain greed was rearing its ugly head. No surprise, then, that the rest of the apostles were angry with them once they found out. And as usual, the dull-headedness of the disciples provides Jesus with significant opportunity to teach them what service truly means. He ties his mission and identity directly to what he expects of them: "Whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve . . ."

What specific difference does this make? Look at Mark 10. In one story his disciples tried to prevent little children from approaching him. Jesus, they think, has more important things to do. "Don't disturb the Master," they say, "with such insignificant people!" Children had no status in Jesus' day. They were people beside the point. But precisely for this reason, Jesus admonished his disciples sternly and let them know that this children were precisely the point. A little later in the same chapter, a blind man cries out to Jesus for mercy. Many there try and shut him up. We don't know for sure if the disciples were among them. Whatever the case, the man just cries out louder. And Jesus stops. Jesus shows mercy. Jesus stops at the side of the road to heal a blind man crying out desperately for his touch. And then we are told that after he regained his sight he "followed him on his way."

People that many thought were incidental, distracting to the real work at hand, unimportant, and beside the point, Jesus treated as worthy of attention, time, and energy. Jesus often treated what people considered beside the point as the point. Yes, Jesus had an agenda. This agenda, this mission, meant proceeding towards the cross. But not at the expense of people; in fact, he proceeded toward the cross--a destination even his closest disciples did not yet understand--precisely for these very people. "The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve . . ."

What his disciples didn't get in their immature and hungry grab for power was that power was not on Jesus' "to do" list. They were only concerned for themselves. James and John, in vying for positions alongside Jesus, missed the point entirely. The little children were the point. The blind man crying out desperately for mercy and for his sight was the point. Jesus was giving up his life for "the least of these."

How often do I do the same thing? How often do I overlook and shove aside that which Christ wants front and center? How often do I do that because I am more interested in personal gain and self-interest than I am in the needs of those around me? We can make fun of those disciples (duh-ciples!) all we want, but we are more often like them than Jesus. Do I have an agenda that pushes away the least of these or do I allow my agenda to be shaped by the least of these? Jesus' passion and mission was restoring fellowship between God and anyone interested in that restoration, and this meant treating with respect, dignity, and a fierce love many that we normally see as beside the point when we're preoccupied with ourselves and our own self-important agendas. May we be more like Jesus, willing to stop at the road side to assist those crying out, knowing full well that doing so is a part of the journey along the road in the first place.

Getting into the Scriptures (or getting the Scriptures into us!)

One of the things I've been thinking about a great deal lately is Scripture. This is the narrative of our God's dealings with us. It tells us the story of our creation, our sin and disobedience, and our redemption through Jesus and the ultimate victory promised to those who remain faithful to him. It is our source of wisdom, divine instruction, practical advice on how to conduct ourselves as the people of God, and it is, supposedly, our authority in all matters of faith and practice. And yet.

And yet we don't read our Bibles enough. We neglect them. We are not soaked in them. We don't follow Peterson's (and John's and Ezekiel's) admonition to "eat this book." Instead, we are often culture-soaked, enveloped and engulfed by the messages we receive from the internet and television, music and the movies. Despite the fact that I'm a pastor, this is still something that I continue to learn as well. And so our Bibles sit on mantles, in hotel drawers, on coffee tables, night-stands, etc., conspicuously unread.

But that's not entirely true, nor is it entirely fair. The Bible is not the most friendly, accessible book. It can be intimidating. It can be unwieldy. It can be discouraging to read a verse, a chapter, or even a large chunk of one of its 66 books and realize that you have no idea what it all means. There is narrative. There is poetry. There is apocalyptic literature. There are letters. There are gospels. There are prophets denouncing God's people and announcing imminent doom and destruction. There are odd customs. There is holy war. There is what some might call ethnic cleansing. There are long lists of names (geneaologies). There are lists upon lists of arcane rules that appear to have no relevance for the nineteenth-century, much less the twenty-first! There are culture gaps of thousands of years and miles that separate us from the events and people in the Bible. Is it any wonder that it's hard to get into (and even more difficult to get it into us)?

That's why I'm very excited about the newest addition of the Bible the International Bible Society is releasing this August called The Books of the Bible. What excites me most about this--and if you follow the link, you'll see for yourself--is that they are doing whatever they can to make the Bible more accessible and readable while still maintaining its integrity. All the books are still there, even if re-arranged into their probable historical order and in relation to other books of a similar theme, thrust, or style. Gone is the two-column format which makes our Bibles look more like a phone book than something we may want to read. Gone are the in-text chapter and verse divisions. Gone are the headings. And relegated to the back of each book are the study notes. The effect is that the Bible now looks like a book we might actually read.

Granted, it is still the Bible. All of the books are in tact. Obviously. But this format restores the text. It removes it, hopefully, from our tendency to proof-text and atomize our Scriptures. And while it may prove more difficult to use this edition to memorize specific verses or passages, it hopefully will encourage a fuller reading--one that doesn't stop because of numbers which separate. "What God has joined together, let not man put asunder." I know, that's a poor example of proof-texting my point, but you get the picture. Those chapter and verse divisions are not original to the Bible, and as helpful as they are, they also prevent us sometimes from experiencing the Scriptures as one ongoing narrative, as a collection of whole books that reveal to us God at work in history and the world.

In my opinion, I am very appreciative of whatever will get us into our Bibles more easily. There are enough inherent barriers to good Bible reading that we need to overcome through study and homework, but the very manner of how our Bibles have traditionally been published and printed are themselves barriers to even cracking the spine. Eugene Peterson's The Message already had used a single column format without chapter and verse divisions; and it meant that we could pick up our Bibles like any other book, that is, in a format that was welcoming. I think of kids who inherit King James Bibles from their grandparents and can't understand a word of it. And given the offense and scandal of the biblical message, which makes it both bitter and sweet, whatever we can do to get the Scriptures into us is great news. In fact, it is good news. And isn't that what the Bible is all about in the first place?

Books and Pastors

I find that at the moment, books have become my pastors. The pastoral life can be confusing, isolating, bewildering, exhilirating, joyful, and frustrating. It all depends on the day of the week sometimes. And in the midst of all the challenges that that are likely inevitable, I too need people who can show me the way and ground me responsibly in my calling, both as a follower of Jesus and as a pastor. Such help often shows up in people who write books about this life in Christ that we find ourselves thrown into by the mysterious yet faithful grace of God.

Yesterday, I was wishing I had something helpful and encouraging to read. I started scanning my bookshelves--on which there is no lack of books!--and my eyes landed providentially on a book I purchased nearly a year ago but had barely touched: David Hansen's The Art of Pastoring: Ministry Without All the Answers. Already I've read a good chunk of this book and have been encouraged and challenged, not only in my pastoral calling but in my Christian walk in general. The chapters on temptation and eschatology are so far the ones that have challenged my thinking the most. I read something like this and I realize how much we misunderstand ministry and the Christian life. We try to boost ourselves and our churches up by employing management-style programs--which means we are ultimately trying to manage ourselves and our churches without recourse to God, who is our life and end goal. Reading Hansen reminds me that the life of a pastor is nothing short of being a "parable of Jesus," and that the pastor is but a concentrated example of what every follower of Christ is called to be. I will be processing the truths of this book for a long time.

I've also just started reading a book by Eugene Peterson and Marva Dawn, The Unnecessary Pastor: Rediscovering the Call. So far, so good. But almost every page Peterson graces with his pen rings with truths you felt but could never express or dared not imagine. And this book also makes me want to pick up more stuff by Marva Dawn. Another great book is Peterson's The Jesus Way. This, along with Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places and Eat This Book, represent Peterson's first three volumes of a projected five-volume opus on spiritual theology. Worth ten times their weight in gold, these books speak more than hundred of volumes on Church strategy, management, growth, and health.

I've realized that I tend toward books that tell me the truth rather than books that just give me good ideas or ideas the author proposes are good or are based on sound social science research or business techniques. I agree with Hansen, when he says, "I discovered that spending a day reading thirty pages of Karl Barth's Dogmatics helped me more in my pastoral work than a hundred pages of how-to literature." While I haven't read much Barth lately, I resonate with these words. I want depth. I constantly want to feed my identity in Christ. I want authors who will tell the truth, which may include being told things I don't want to hear. I want to read authors on the spiritual and pastoral life whose words are a prescription against the seemingly unwavering tendency I have to take shortcuts, avoid prayer, avoid loving people, and to do whatever I can except what I ought to be doing. I want authors who do more than quote Scripture when convenient for their purposes; I want authors steeped in the salvation-narrative of Scripture, the grand story of redemption given to us through the Father, Son, and Spirit. I want authors and books that remind me of the truth, because even if the truth sometimes hurts, it is still what sets us free.

A little something for Father's Day

Well, tomorrow is Father's Day. And below is my sermon for that very occasion. Although since not every man in our church is in fact a father, I'm addressing it to all the men of the church. Hope you enjoy!

"Men After God's Own Heart"
1 Samuel 16: 1 -- 13; Acts 13: 22

Introduction—“The Lord looks on the heart”
(David and his brothers—1 Samuel 16: 7)

What is the measure of a man? I’m sure if we were to take a survey some of the following things would appear: physical strength, physical appearance, money, success, power and position. Maybe more positive things would also make the list. But in general our culture has a superficial view of what makes a man a man.

And this was no different in David’s day. God told Samuel to go Bethlehem, the home of Jesse, to have a church service and to invite Jesse and his boys. God was going to choose a new man to lead his people. So once Samuel got there Jesse paraded all of his sons before him. And with the appearance of the first son Samuel thought, “Well, God, this guy looks pretty impressive. This must be the one.” But God let Samuel in on an important little secret: “The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

All of David’s brothers were probably impressive by outward standards—but none of them passed muster. What’s funny is that Jesse didn’t even think David worthy enough to invite to the party. So after Samuel had gone through the list, and God had vetoed each of Jesse’s sons as potential kings, Samuel sheepishly asked, “Are all your sons here?” In other words, Samuel thought, “Maybe this Jesse guy is holding back.” Jesse, maybe a little embarrassed, sent for David. When he arrived God told Samuel, “This is the one.” And as God told Samuel, “The Lord looks on the heart.”

This morning I want to look at David as an example of a man after God’s own heart and to say that this is how God measures the man: the heart. Acts 13: 22 says: “I have found David, son of Jesse, to be a man after my heart, who will carry out all my wishes.” David’s life is evidence for all of us that men who make a habit of God will grow a heart for God. So this morning I want to look at four stories from David’s life that marked him out as a man after God’s own heart.

Having confidence in God—“The battle is the Lord’s”
(David and Goliath—1 Samuel 17: 47)

In our first story, young David, still a shepherd, later on found himself delivering provisions to his three eldest brothers, for they were part of the Israelite army and were on the front lines facing off against the Philistines. Unknown to him, the Israelites had already been challenged by the Philistine’s prize-fighter, Goliath. Every time this ten-foot warrior stepped out into the light, the Israelite army fled to the shadows, terrified.

So David shows up with food for his brothers, and while chatting with them out walks Goliath, insulting the Israelite army. David, the runt of the litter, can’t believe that no one is willing to take on Goliath. He says as much: “For who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?”

And when he said this, his brothers even got ticked off at him and told him to mind his own business—what did he know about war and battle and what it meant, well, to be a real man? Of course, all of this came from a bunch of guys who cowered in the corner every time Goliath showed his ugly face! Even Saul didn’t think much of David. “For you are just a boy,” observes Saul. Failing to see David’s heart—and therefore the Lord’s—all he sees is the outward appearance.

David gathers five smooth rocks from a brook and then moves in to square off against Goliath. Already he’s been ignored and insulted by his brothers and Saul, so now the armoured behemoth chimes in: “Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?”

David makes sure that Goliath and everyone else knows how he can stand up to an enemy of such might and stature: “You come to me with sword . . . but I come to in the name of the Lord . . . the Lord will deliver you into my hand . . . so that all the earth may know that the Lord does not save by sword . . . for the battle is the Lord’s.” How many times does David refer to the Lord? And then David slung one of those stones through the air and it landed smack in the middle of Goliath’s forehead—the story says it “sank into his forehead”—and he fell to the ground dead.

Everyone else only believed what they saw with their eyes. Tall giant. Young kid. No chance. But that’s not what David saw. He saw a God that had already rescued him from bears and lions. He saw a God who was a living God, who was present and active. David’s confidence was in the Lord.

David called God the living God—this is not a god of museum and memory, trapped in the past, but a living God, available, reliable, stable, present, and personal. This was God—the living God—and he was worthy of David’s confidence and trust. When David faced Goliath, he wasn’t doing so alone—“the battle is the Lord’s,” he said.

As a man after God’s own heart, he had confidence and trust in the living God. If we are to be men after God’s own heart, we too need to be confident in God, the living God. Having confidence means more than believing in God. When I am confident that someone I know will do something or act a certain way, that’s the sort of confidence we’re talking about here. Our confidence is in God, not ourselves.

Being present to the living God—“O Lord God, you are God”
(David and God—2 Samuel 7: 28)

The second story isn’t a story; it’s a prayer. And it’s more than one prayer; it’s a book of prayers. I’m talking about the book of Psalms. David’s life was a prayed life; he lived in the presence of the living God. Having confidence in the living God doesn’t happen just by accident; it happens when we talk to this God, when we speak to him, and when we listen to him. If David was anything, despite his sins and failures, it was this: he was pretty consistently present to the living God.

To take one example, listen to Psalm 27. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh—my adversaries and foes—they shall stumble and fall.” David had fought plenty of enemies, but when I hear these words, I think of his confrontation with Goliath—“the battle is the Lord’s.”

And here is another, Psalm 56: “Be gracious to me, O God, for people trample on me; all day long foes oppress me; my enemies trample on me all day long, for many fight against me. O Most High, when I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God whose word I praise, in God I trust; I am not afraid; what can flesh do to me?” Being present to the living God, being confident in him, doesn’t mean we never fear what’s going on. Even David knew fear. But being present to God means turning to him when we’re afraid just as David did.

If we men want to learn what it means to be men of prayer, we can turn to David and to the Psalms—he is our teacher and they are our school. David didn’t allow the reality of his enemies to define him; he lived a God-defined life. God was at the center, not the circumference. You know why coming together on Sundays to worship is important? It’s not because God is confined to this time and this place, but because our tendency to neglect him, as Eugene Peterson says, “is so relentless that if we don’t deliberately interrupt ourselves regularly, we have no chance of attending to him at all at other times and in other places.”

Being present to God—through regular worship, prayer, and reading Scripture—will be what helps us to have confidence in the living God. Like David, we are called to be men who cry out to our God, like in his prayer in 2 Samuel 7, “O Lord God, you are God, and your words are true.”

Cultivating friendships from God—“He loved him as he loved his own life”
(David and Jonathan—1 Samuel 20: 17)

But we can’t do this alone. If we want to be present to and have confidence in the living God, there is no such thing as rugged individualism. There is no such thing as lone ranger Christianity. No man is an island. Insert your macho cliché here. None fit what it means to be man after God’s own heart.

David, you see, eventually earned an enemy in Saul. Because of his success against Goliath, Saul decided to put him in charge of the army. And when David began racking up victory after victory, the comparisons started: “Saul has killed his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” Saul was not impressed by the comparison. He soon became David’s enemy. “I will pin David to the wall,” said Saul. And Saul attempted this on more than one occasion.

But David was not alone. There was Jonathan, Saul’s son, of whom it says in 1 Samuel 18, “was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” Jonathan and David were as committed to one another as two friends could be. You can see their friendship unfold in 1 Samuel 18 – 20. One part of the story goes like this. Jonathan had already convinced his father once—or so he thought—to leave David alone. Jonathan saved David’s life. So later when David told Jonathan that Saul was still out to get him, Jonathan didn’t want to believe it. So David cooked up a scheme to prove to Jonathan that he wasn’t just being paranoid.

Once when David was supposed to join Saul for dinner, he and Jonathan concocted a cover story to explain why David was a no-show. David instead had to go and join a religious celebration with his family. If Saul had no intentions to murder David, then all would be fine. But if he had planned on using this chance to murder David, he’d be angry. And this is exactly what happened. Jonathan fed his father the story about David having to visit his family and Saul was furious.

So Jonathan realized David’s fears were well-founded. And Saul also figured out that David and Jonathan were in cohoots. This put Jonathan’s life in danger, and Saul attached him too. Saul “threw his spear at him to strike him.” He saved David’s life again.

That’s a friend. And David needed such a friend. Jonathan “loved him as he loved his own life.” Jonathan’s friendship with David revealed a deep, Christ-like love, one willing to go more than the extra mile. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friend,” said Jesus to his disciples. “The Lord shall be between you and me,” says Jonathan to David.

So much of life is anti-God and anti-Christ. And it seems so often that life is out to get us. This is why we need friendships. To be men after God’s own heart, we need friendships with other men who are after God’s own heart. Such friendships help us remain confident in God even when life tells us it’s senseless to do so and helps us remain present to God even when life does everything possible to distract us from prayer and worship. Such friends may even save our lives.

Recognizing our sin before God—“I have sinned against the Lord”
(David and Bathsheba—2 Samuel 12: 13)

But after all of this, there remains one more story to tell. Sometimes the men who pursue God with the fiercest devotion, men like David, can fall into the deepest traps. For all of his accomplishments and victories, David was not invulnerable to temptation and sin.

Our last story, in 2 Samuel 11, begins like this: “In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle . . .” When kings go out to battle. But what does David do? David sent Joab his commander to lead the battle and stayed behind. David the king is acting, it seems, decidedly un-kingly. Here we have an older David, one who is perhaps weary of fighting.

The man who once as a boy squared off against Goliath and escaped the clutches of Saul, who prayed as a refugee in the wilderness, who fought victories and won by the help of the Lord, now remains comfortably behind in his palace. And what happens as a result?

With nothing else to occupy his attention, David is lazily strolling about on the roof of his palace. From there he spies a beautiful woman. Liking what he sees, he finds out who she is and has her brought to him and sleeps with her. Her name is Bathsheba and she was married. But of course, she likely did not have much a choice in this lurid transaction—how much of a willing participant could she be? After all, David was the king! And David, thinking he’s more or less gotten away with it, sends her home after he’s gotten what he wanted. This is bad enough, but that’s not the worst of it.

Bathsheba sends David a message. She’s pregnant, and there’s no way this is her husband’s child because he’s in the field fighting. “Uh-oh,” David thinks, “This isn’t good. Now what do I do?” He sends for Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, ostensibly to get a report on the battle. This is all a ploy. David figures he can get Uriah to go to bed with his wife while home. Uriah says, “All my fellow soldiers are still fighting and so there’s no way I can enjoy my home and be with my wife. It wouldn’t be right.” Uriah is the honourable one. So David instructs Joab to make sure that in the next melee Uriah gets in the line of fire. And so it happens. Uriah is killed. David literally gets away with murder. That is, until the prophet Nathan, at the prompting of the Lord, pays David a visit.

Nathan tells David a story about a man who has all kinds of sheep. He’s a rich man, one of the wealthiest in town, but when a house guest is on the way this arrogant rich man decides to take a sheep from the poorest man in town—the only sheep he had!—to prepare a meal for his guest rather than use one of his own. David, thinking this story to be literally true, is incensed. And he wants justice. “The man who has done this deserves to die,” says David. Then Nathan’s punchline nails David squarely on the jaw: “You are the man!” The truth comes out. David is found out. And David, cut to the heart, laments, “I have sinned against the Lord.”

We’re going to sin. That’s a given. David’s sin had come home to roost. He had exploited and demeaned Bathsheba, and he had deceived and killed Uriah. Worst of all, he had “sinned against the Lord.” This man, upon whose heart God had looked with favour all those years ago, who had shown his confidence in God before a Philistine giant, and enjoyed a friendship given to him by God, and who had spent his life being present before God in worship and prayer, had now violated this relationship to end all relationships: he had taken God from the center and put himself first. The result is a violated woman and a dead soldier. And the child born to Bathsheba also dies, despite David’s tears, prayers, and fasting. Sin leads to death—not David’s, but he is left to deal with the aftermath, to contend with the consequences.

David’s response to his sin is a lesson for all of us. He worshipped. We see this response in Psalm 51. “Create in me a clean heart,” David cries. “Do not cast me away from your presence,” he pleads. “My sin is ever before me,” he confesses. “Wash me thoroughly,” he prays. And when we sin, David’s prayers become ours. Having confidence in God—being present to him—includes how we deal with our sin. We recognize our sin before God. We let him deal with our sin. We confess. We cry out. We plead. We pray. Listen to what David says in Psalm 32:

“While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me.” But, thankfully, the Psalm doesn’t end there. David continues, “Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,’ and you forgave the guilt of my sin.” Like I said, when we mess up, David’s prayers become ours.

Conclusion—“A man after my heart”
(David and us—Acts 13: 22)

So, what makes a real man? Instead of asking that question today, let’s ask whether we are men after God’s own heart. Let’s ask ourselves these questions:

First, do I have confidence in God? Do I believe that “the battle is the Lord’s” like David? Do I believe that God will act faithfully? Do I believe that God is who he says he is?

Second, am I praying regularly, reading my Bible regularly, worshipping regularly, attending church regularly? Am I attending to the reality of God in my life? Do I make sure that I deliberately set time aside to worship, to be present to God?

Third, am I cultivating friendships from God? Do I have godly friends who encourage me to read my Bible, pray, and go to church to worship? Do I encourage other men to do this? Who has God placed in my life to help me be a man after his heart?

And last, do I recognize my sin for what it is? Do I openly confess before God when I try to go my own way rather than his way? Am I willing to fess up to my wrongs? Do I open myself up to the forgiveness God offers?

I mentioned at the start today God’s description of David from Acts 13: 22: “I have found David, son of Jesse, to be a man after my heart, who will carry out all my wishes.” Men who make a habit of God will grow a heart for God. What kind of men do we want to be? Do we want to spend our lives trying to get our own way or would we rather live for God and do what he wants to do?

Being a man after God’s own heart means wanting his will accomplished in our lives rather than our own. It means having a heart of confident in God. It means having a heart of loyalty and friendship, a heart that finds life and joy in worship, fellowship with God in prayer, and one willing to admit when we’ve screwed up big time and we’ve got no one to blame but ourselves. In the end, having a heart for God means being able to say along with David, “You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Because whatever we see, or what we think others see, it is what the Lord sees that matters, and “the Lord looks on the heart.”

The myth of having it all together

I admit it, I like having all of my ducks in a row. I like it when things are more or less neat and tidy, whether we're talking about the house or life in general. I remember someone saying to me once that outer order was an indicator of inner order. And so I must confess that for a long time, I really bought into that. Such a belief would manifest itself--and still does occasionally--in the need to straighten up my office, say, before I begin working in it. And I don't just mean the desk I'm going to work at; I mean the whole office. The same happens at home. There are moments when there's lots of housework to do and until it's done, I find it hard to feel comfortable in my own home. Now, of course, I would argue that this is ok and reasonable to some extent. If I'm going to work at my desk, I should clear it off first; and if I want to read in a chair at home, I can't do so if a bunch of my daughter's toys are piled on it. Not many of us prefer to live and work in squalor! Not that our house is ever rife with squalor, but you get my meaning. And, unsurprisingly, this need for outer order really rears its ugly head when we know we have houseguests or visitors coming--there's that mad impulse to get everything done in time, to sweep up all the dust bunnies, rid the rooms of clutter, and, for goodness sake, make sure the bathroom is shiny and bright! It often, for us, takes the form of a whirlwind of cleaning the night before. There are many of us who suffer from such chaos or "can't-have-anybody-over-syndrome." I'm sure we all know what that's like.

And again, I'm not saying that keeping our house is a bad thing. Surely not. Heck, there's almost nothing I enjoy more than a house that has recently been cleaned and tidied! We recently had some Spring-cleaning days here at our church, and it felt very good to do here what most of do at home: get rid of clutter, junk, dust, and hopefully make things feel a little more welcoming, both for ourselves and also for anyone else who happens to drop by. Doing all this is a sign of hospitality.

But . . .

I occasionally wonder if the impulse to impose this sort of outer order on our lives and circumstances is a form of perfectionism borne of the often unexpressed feeling that we have to have it all together. And that we ought to be ashamed if we don't have it all together. Because we all know that the reason we want to have everything clean and in its rightful place when visitors come is that we're worried they'll think less of us if we don't. And along with this worry we assume that everyone else must have it all together. "No one else lets this much dust gather under their end-tables, do they? Of course not!"

But we don't have it altogether; none of us does. That's true in all of life's facets, whether family life, marriage, work, ministry or whatever. We are forever missing the mark. The funny thing, though, is that we guilt-trip ourselves because we think we should have it all together. We lay an extra burden on ourselves (and sometimes those around us, mostly those whom we love and live with). When engaged couples are going through pre-marital counseling, an important thing for them to talk about is the gap between expectations versus reality. And this is important for all of us, married or not. We are constantly experiencing the gap that exists between expectations and reality, because so often our expectations are not realistic. So we don't have it all together. And this is true, by the way, even if you're able to maintain outer order and look as though you have it all together. You're just hiding behind appearances that much more effectively. A clean house is no indicator of having it all together on the inside.

In Genesis 1, God creates order out of chaos. Out of the soupy nothingness of the primordial mess of pre-creation, God brings shape and form into being. Only God has it all together; and only God can bring it all together. This is true of the wide expanse of all the cosmos, from every star and nebula to every insect and microbe, and it's also true of us. The entire narrative of salvation, given to us in Scripture, is a testimony that only God can take the mess and chaos of our lives and relationships, places of work and worship, and make them into what they should be. In every single instance where we have attempted to go it on our own and impose order on the world we have gone off the rails badly. Look at Eden. And look at Babel. Take a close look at the history of Israel. Clearly we don't do well when we try and run our own lives. Our attempts at ordering the chaos more often than not results in more chaos; we are forever mucking things up and causing trouble. And so, God. Only he can bring order out of chaos. Only he can knit the various threads of our lives into a meaningful and redemptive pattern. Only he can untangle the knots we have made of ourselves and our circumstances.

But we persist. We continue to feel as though we have to have it all together. We're afraid that someone may, so to speak, catch us with our pants down, unprepared and completely in disarray. The impulse to clean completely before company arrives is almost a sign of inner disorder, the fact that we think we have to be the ones to create meaning and give our lives their form. And we think that others will think poorly of us because our lives don't give the appearance of order. We worry that our outer disorder will be taken as a sign of inner disorder. But maybe the opposite is true. Letting that dirty laundry fester in the basement (nice image, eh?) or allowing the dirty dishes to sit in the sink for another hour or two might be the thing to do if it means taking the time to laugh and play with my daughter or spend an evening with my wife. Do I live that way, however? Of course not. At least not always. I'm just as obsessed with outer order as anyone. But I hope that I am gradually learning to recover from this.

And how do we recover? We do so by praying the words of Genesis, and indeed the whole of Scripture, into our lives, by asking God to free us from the very impulse to do that which only he can accomplish. We need to stop playing at God and let God be God. Salvation includes more than our heavenly reward; salvation is also about the here and now, about how we allow our lives to be ordered by God. It means that the next time you find yourself obsessing over housework, remember that dusty floors and dirty laundry say almost nothing about the sort of order that really matters. And it means remembering, therefore, that only God can create the order that truly does matter. As it says in Genesis, "And God said . . . And it was so."

Random Acts of Ministry

I think I like spontaneous ministry opportunities better than those we plan sometimes. While I enjoy our youth group on Friday nights, there are young people in the area (late teens) for whom our youth group would appear irrelevant at best. Most of our kids are in the junior high range. It's hard--maybe impossible?--to engage such a broad age range in one setting. Unfortunately, at the moment we don't have the resources (people and time!) to have more than one youth group. But thankfully God never leaves us without opportunities.

The other night I was on our back deck playing guitar. It had been a beautiful day, and the evening was also very nice. Cool, but not cold, and no bugs to speak of yet. Ella was already asleep, and Alisha was working at the church office. I had some time to myself. Now, our church, which is just across the road from our house, tends to be a loitering/hang-out spot for some local youth. Usually, they hang-out there mostly out of boredom. And on this particular evening there were a few young guys doing exactly that. I kept playing my guitar, foolishly thinking that the sounds may attract them to come closer. It didn't.

So I went over and invited them to come hang-out on the back deck and have a Coke. They came, and I learned some stuff about them that I didn't know already. A couple are taking their GED. All three are also working. After about 15 or 20 minutes they left. But they were grateful for the invite and the Coke.

I really like simple moments such as those. No pretense. No expectations. Informal. Casual. I can be myself and (hopefully) over time they learn that they can be themselves too. I think that sometimes moments such as those are more important than having these guys come out to a youth group meeting where everyone else is at least 5 years younger than they are. Aside from that, I just want them to know, even though I am a Christian and a pastor, that I am still normal. All I wanted them to take away from that evening's invitation is that I was willing to invite them over to give them a place to sit, talk, and have something to drink. And especially since this is most likely how I will be able to get to know the older young people in our community, I hope and pray that it happens more often.

There's something profoundly incarnational about not imposing on such moments any kind of evangelistic agenda. Jesus spent a lot of time eating and drinking with people--embodying not only the love of God the Father, but also the parables of the great kingdom feast to which all of the "least of these" are invited. Food and drink are great ice-breakers. Hospitality is itself a crucial expression of the love of Christ. In his book, The Jesus Way: A Conversation on the Ways that Jesus is the Way, Eugene Peterson says that the way we express and live out the truth of Jesus is as vital as that we express and live out the truth of Jesus. That is to say, the gospel is irreducibly relational and personal, and how we follow Jesus and invite others to do likewise have to be grounded in personal relationships. The gospel must become en-fleshed in us as the Body of Christ. To use a popular cliche, "People won't care what you know until they know you care." And God demonstrated his love for us by sending his Son in the flesh--and this is, ultimately, how he sends us. And send us he does: as his arms, feet, legs, hands, head, and heart. Jesus is God the Son incarnate; and we, through the power of the Spirit, are Jesus incarnate (in a manner of speaking!).

Spontaneous opportunities are, of course, not at all spontaneous in that they are truly random or accidental. But they are still opportunities--and we can take them or not, just like we can accept God's grace in Christ or not. While God sovereignly provides opportunities for us to demonstrate his love, he leaves it up to us whether we will, like the good Samaritan, stop and offer help to those who are desperately in need of aid whether they know it or not. And doing so reminds us that we too are that man lying on the side of the road, bloodied and beaten, and that Christ is the good Samaritan for each of us , the one who gives healing and hope.

"Life is what happens when you're busy making plans," John Lennon once sang. And it's true. Most of what is valuable in life can't be confined to our calendars and day planners and palm pilots. The good Samaritan in the story had no idea when he began his day that he would come across anyone in distress; it was unplanned ministry. Neither do we always know when such moments will present themselves. But we do have to be willing to step into the moment, at the prompting of the Spirit of God. I hope and pray that I will have opportunity to do so. For in doing so we too can experience the presence of Jesus that we intend to convey to those we minister to when such moments come along.

God and Superheroes

With Spider-Man 3 hitting theatres today, I thought I'd mention some interesting links to the portrayal of spirituality and religion in comics and Spider-Man in particular. There's one here, here, here, and here. Indeed, they were quite thought-provoking. So many people think that comics are thoughtless and frivolous, but looking at these links makes you realize that they often deal with some pretty serious subject matter; and this is just a small taste.

I must confess, when I was a kid I was pretty fanatical about Spider-Man comics. I must have had hundreds of them! The same thing that drew me to the comics also draws me to the movies--they're both a lot of fun but there's also a thread of humanity that is relatable. The characters are not at all comic-bookey in the more derogatory sense of two-dimensional card-board cutouts and stereotypes, but people that most of us can identify with. That's especially true of Spider-Man, a young kid who receives these incredible gifts and then struggles enormously in how to handle and use them. Peter Parker, the young guy under the Spider-Man mask, already had problems, and becoming Spider-Man just seemed to multiply them. Spider-Man was likable and attractive because he was more like us.

And if it seems strange to write about this topic in this blog, then I would simply say that such cultural icons are often touchstones for discussing universal themes such as forgiveness, redemption, responsibility, love, etc. Most successful stories, including super hero stories, weave arcs of redemption into their narratives. Characters experience challenges and choices, and the choices they make shape their characters and their destinies. As you can see if you follow the links above, even the director of Spider-Man 3, Sam Raimi, speaks of his movie in quasi-religious terms.

This shouldn't surprise us. Super-heroes are mythological characters, cut from the same imaginative cloth as other mythological heroes of literature and pop-culture. Whether we talk about The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars, redemptive storylines are usually much more effective if the religious elements are completely absorbed in the story itself. Tolkien, when asked why there is no "religion" and no "churches" in Middle-Earth, commented that this is because the entire story is through and through religious. He wasn't too keen on the obvious allegorical approach of his friend C.S. Lewis's Narnia books. If I'm not mistaken, he once referred to The Lord of the Rings as a thoroughly Catholic work. Even so, there are still narrative hints of a divine presence, not unlike the so-called "Force" in Star Wars. And so it is with super-heroes.

Given that God is the Creator, it's no surprise to me, also, that those who are creative find themselves dealing with the reality of God, whether knowingly or not, positively or not. Patterns of redemption, salvation, and resurrection have been inscribed into the fabric of all that God has made. I'm no pop-culture critic or scholar of literature, but I think that this is pretty obvious. That it is so reminds me of Paul's speech to the Athenians in Acts 17. They had an altar to "an unknown god," and Paul went on to say, "What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you." He then went on to proclaim Christ. Intimations of God's presence, however imperfect, broken, sinful, and incomplete, are there all around us. As Bruce Cockburn sings, the world gives us "rumours of glory." We can see them in films, the arts, hear them in music, see them in the people around us, and in trees, fields, and forests, lakes, rivers, oceans, and in all the creatures God has made. As Christians, we need to provide context and shape to these intimations and rumours, and let people know that the God that Paul says they "grope" for "is not far from each one of us." And more than that, as Paul says, using one of their famous poets, it is in this God that "we live and move and have our being." It was true for Paul, the Athenians of his day, and it is true for us. It's also true for all those super-heroes on the page and screen, and for those who put them there.

On the other side of darkness

It's been ages. And I've said this to myself before: why keep a blog if I'm not really going to keep it? Just a few days ago, a close friend suggested that perhaps updating my blog would be a worthwhile idea. It's been over three months since I've posted here. The reason for this is that I honestly have had neither the time, the energy, nor the inclination. You see, only now with Spring finally arriving in all its new-life glory is my family emerging from the other side of the darkness of depression. Not long after my last post--dated January 21st--my wife entered into a black season, three months of soul-rending, that only with the emergence of longer days and more frequent blue skies has begun to dissipate. Needless to say, our family was stuck in a veritable black hole for the bulk of the winter, a depression heavier than twelve inches of hard-packed snow. And our climb out of this hole has been long, arduous, and frought with feelings of despair and frustration, doubt and even anger. Yet at the same time, and I will get to this at greater length later, God has seen us through, even if we weren't always able to see that so clearly. Our view of heaven obscured, we clung desperately sometimes to our faith as best as we were able.

Depression--and I mean of the clinical, serious sort--is a thief. It steals your joy, takes your peace, and robs you of life itself. Your own mind becomes your worst enemy as it is flooded with negative thoughts to the extreme. There were times when all my wife wanted was for it to end. There were times when all we could do was cling to one another, sob, and cry out to God a heart-wrenching, "WHY??" There were times when everything felt lost except for the barest instinct to survive.

Depression also colours the remainder of your experience. When you're facing depression, nothing is like it was. Life is tainted. Hope is absent. Even the joy of family is taken away; there were weeks during this time when our little girl had to stay with her grandparents because she wanted her Mummy and Mummy wasn't well enough to look after her. When your own child begins to show obvious signs of stress, you know it's become serious. One evening in particular was absolutely horrible--possibly one of the more difficult moments in all the three months--when we had to call for Ella's grandparents to come get her. She had been with us for just over a day and already was displaying indications of stress because of Alisha's depression. Suffice it to say, Ella was not herself. Alisha's Mum, brother, and sister-in-law arrived and once Ella realized that she would be going with them and not staying with us, the look on her face said it all. It was the face of a little two-year old trying to process the situation and feeling the weight of the moment. It was heart-breaking. When she left, Alisha and I wept. What was happening to our family?

For the first month and a half, this was something, amazingly, that we hid from some. But once we realized that this was not going away quickly, we knew that we had to tell more of our family and friends. Alisha wrote a long e-mail to close friends disclosing what was happening. Around the same time I revealed it to our church. This was becoming ever more important since Alisha and Ella rarely were at church; we didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea! And we also realized our deep need to open ourselves up to the available prayer support of our church family. Initially, because we know that depression can be so hard to understand, we chose not to tell people outside of our closest friends and family. I think we feared misunderstanding. But the stress was affecting more than Ella. I was spending much of my time at home caring for Alisha, and was feeling the pressure of not getting work done at the church. Telling our church family was the only way of alleviating that pressure. And, thank the Lord, our church exhibited the graciousness of God, who, in his mercy, accepts us in our brokenness and by doing so helps us inch our way toward resurrection life and newness.

Throughout this particular trial, we questioned, prayed, doubted, cried, but never cursed God. Our circumstances were Job-like, at least in proportion to what we would no doubt be able to endure. And God was there. We didn't always hear him or see him. Yet he was there. He was there in the availability of family to help, especially when it came to taking care of Ella. He was there in the e-mail responses and phone calls of close friends who came alongside us with the wisdom of Job's friends before they began to talk. He was with us in the prayers of our church family who were vigilant and persistent in their knocking on heaven's door. And he was with us even in the smallest details of home life, for despite the enormity of this depression and its seeming endlessness, the one thing we never did was curse him and each other. There were moments of tension, yes. But love reigned. Perhaps not always in our attitudes, but in our actions. Love was made flesh and dwelt among us, with us, and for us.

Bruce Cockburn sings in "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" that "you've got to kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight," and there's truth in those words. Love is called to bear with the harshest, most unfriendly, most uncongenial of circumstances until signs of life begin to appear. In Genesis, God speaks light into the darkness--"Let there be light!" Only God can bring the daylight we need--and he did, oh, did he ever! It was the second last week of April, and finally there was blue sky, and the warmth of the sun was something we could feel rather than have to imagine. It was then that Alisha's depression noticeably lifted--and, in fact, she got a sunburn from being out so long doing yardwork!

With previous episodes of depression, we tended to move on quickly and in some respects to forget about it and put it out of our minds. “Life is good now,” we would think to ourselves, “so let's not even dwell for one second on that awful time.” Understandable. But I don't want to forget. Not entirely. I guess I want our experience to have a purpose that's larger, a purpose I can see. You might say that I want some evidence of Paul's words that "all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose." Whether I am granted this prayer remains to be seen, but in the meantime I am glad and grateful that while we do experience darkness in our lifetimes that "God is light and in him there is no darkness at all."

Lessons from the Back Deck

Today is a beautiful day. But it hardly began that way. At first, it looked we were in for another cloudy, grey, perhaps wet day. And while it is still overcast on occasion, there was enough sunshine and blue sky for my family and I to eat lunch on our back deck. Granted, there was a pretty cool breeze, but I love being able to sit on our deck, eat sandwiches, and just enjoy the gradually warming weather. I feel so blessed to have the house we do. The only thing we lack is a barbecue and I'm hoping we can pick one up next summer. Our back deck is positively screaming for a BBQ!

Just before eating lunch on our back deck, I went for a walk behind our house with my daughter Ella, who is now an active two and a half. At first, we observed all the work her mother and my wife, Alisha, did to extend our back lawn with much toil and sweat over the last week and a half. And then we proceeded to walk through the woods behind our house on a couple of the well-worn paths. Not only that, we also walked through some not-at-all well-worn paths. Ella insisted that we talk a stroll through a less-travelled section of our backyard, where our property meets and intersects with that of a couple of neighbours. I'm sure they wouldn't mind; a two year old can do little harm to their forested backyards!

But Ella is endlessly curious about everything, and she loves being outside. She trotted along with childlike confidence, stopping now and again to examine rocks, dirt, and the occasional twig. Being with your child like this is an incredibly refreshing experience; at least it was so for me. Unless I am with her outside, I rarely stop to notice all the minutiae of God's creation. Ella, well, she can't help but stop. She isn't hemmed in with the distractions of responsibilities and routines and schedules. Unlike us adults, she has all the time in the world. I find myself learning from my daughter, learning to stop, to pause, to put on hold my reasons for worry and endless movement from one task to the next. To keep pace with her is, in a way, to keep pace with the God who calls us to rest and trust in him. For all those little things that spark Ella's endless fascination are all things that God himself has made.

After lunch Alisha and Ella had to leave for a funeral and to spend the night at my in-laws. Once they were gone I gathered some of my books together and again sat in my comfortable adirondack deck chair. While sitting there, I found myself noticing sounds of rustling in the grass and shrubs just beyond our back lawn. I was hoping perhaps for a deer sighting. No such luck. It was only a handful of robins. But even so, there was something about just simply noticing anything at all. It didn't hurt that I was reading Mark Buchanan's book The Holy Wild at the time. It was a chapter reflecting on God as creator, and was a reminder to notice the setting in which God has placed us, this world that he has made, to be alive to it and therefore to him. How appropriate that both my little girl and this other pastor from across the country were, each in their own way, telling me to pay attention to the same thing!

Like a Child

Yesterday was my turn to spend time with my two year old daughter, Ella. My wife, who is just now starting to feel better after having had bronchitis for two weeks, took off for the day to indulge in her favourite hobby, scrapbooking. And deservedly so. As I said, she has been sick for two weeks and is still not feeling one hundred per cent. She needed some time away. Therefore, it was daddy and daughter day, something that probably doesn't happen often enough.

Earlier in the week we had finally gotten some snow and icy temperatures and so my wife, in her motherly wisdom, purchased one of those round saucer slides. We had already taken Ella out once--our next door neighbors have a slightly sloped hill at the side of their house closest to ours, and it's just perfect for a little two year old! Ella, of course, loved it! We would take turns sliding down this little hill with her, and, inevitably, when we reached the bottom Ella would say enthusiastically, "More!"

So yesterday, with the whole day ahead for Ella and I, we took part of the day and went sliding down this same little slope of a hill much to her delight. We would do the count--"One, two, three!"--and off we went! We'd scoot down the hill, sliding on snow that had been smoothed to an icy sheen, and when we reached the bottom we were laughing and giggling. We did this for three-quarters of an hour! That is, until my legs and bottom were sufficiently wet and cold. Ella had snow-pants on, but I did not! Besides, we needed to take a break for lunch. Needless to say, we had a fantastic time. And I felt very blessed to have had the opportunity for a whole day with my little girl.

The funny thing, when I was thinking about it, was that this was a Saturday. Now as a pastor, Saturday time is premium time, time for finishing up the sermon, getting things for Sunday school ready, etc. Saturday is often a busy day. But thankfully I had roughly 95% of my sermon completed. Only the typing remained. So when I was with Ella, I wasn't feeling distracted by a sermon that was waiting for me to work on. I was able to focus entirely on her. I was simply able to enjoy her. That made me think.

It made me think that even if I had had a lot more work to go on my sermon that I still would have had to focus on Ella. There would have been no other option. I mean, her mother was taking a needed day off. I was in charge. Even if I had had only one point of a three point sermon ready, my responsibility was still to Ella. It still would have been important to pay attention to her since while being with her I certainly couldn't work on my sermon (I've tried this before and it just doesn't work!). Not only that, but if I had tried to work on my sermon, not only would that attempt have been unsuccessful but I also would have lost a golden opportunity to enjoy my daughter--and I use that word enjoy intentionally.

One of the greatest things about having that time with Ella was hearing her laugh, and being able to take joy in her joy--being able to laugh with her as she was having fun slide down that hill. It made me think of the inestimable value of being present to my daughter and not only being present with her. Yesterday, in those moments we shared, including the laughter that found us cascading down a slope of newly fallen snow, I showed Ella more about God's fatherly love and care than if I had just plunked her down on the floor with her toys and tried to do something conceivably more pious, like finishing my sermon. It is from parents that children learn about the love of God, and they learn this most powerfully through relational moments. By sharing in her laughter and joy, I increased her laughter and her joy and opened her up to the joy God takes in us.

And so the analogy is an obvious one, isn't it? Doesn't it make sense that God must take joy in us when we ourselves are joyful, when we find ourselves rolling over in laughter so hard and intense tears are streaming down our faces? At least that's what I was wondering about after my day with Ella. Mike Mason, in his book The Mystery of Children: What Our Kids Teach Us About Childlike Faith, says that one of the first laws of parenting is this: "Those who refuse to become childlike are doomed to be childish." And certainly if I had had more work on my sermon to complete, I could have sulked that I had to look after Ella and I could have worried about how I was going to get my work done. In other words, I could have acted childishly. But what would have been the point of that, really? What more would have gotten done? Having to spend that day with her--thereby allowing myself to be childlike--taught me something crucial about how it is that we receive Christ, how it is that we are to enter the kingdom as a child.

We often see children as a nuisance. They seem to get in our way. They disrupt our schedules and routines. Worst of all, they make a mess. Toys are scattered everywhere. You can always count on a child (especially once they become mobile and develop lots of dexterity!) to get into places and things that they shouldn't. And they force us, really force us, to put our own concerns, priorities, and needs aside to pay attention to them. When a child is in the room, they are, more often than not, the center of attention, the whirlwind of activity. And usually if we do not respect them, treat them as genuine persons, and give them their due, they behave even worse. So we're better off seeing them in a better light.

Jesus, pointing out this wrong attitude in his disciples, chided them for preventing some children from approaching him. He says, basically, "Hey, you've got it all wrong. These are the sort of people to whom the kingdom properly belongs. You better learn from them." Just as I was able to take joy from Ella's laughter and find myself caught up in it, I can see God doing likewise with each of us. Certainly Jesus did. He blessed the children. And no doubt he took joy in them; joy is a fruit of Spirit, after all, something Jesus had an endless supply of! I want to suggest, also, that we are the children of that story--he wants us to come to him, and he wants us to come to him as trusting, joyful children who have a Father in heaven who loves them. He wants us to know that having such a disposition toward God, through Jesus, is exactly what it means to be in the kingdom of heaven.

So it's ok, then, to enjoy my daughter's joy and laughter, to take that time out and pay attention to her, and to be attentive to her presence. In doing so she learns about God in ways that I could never teach her through a family devotion, sermon, or Bible study (as important as these may be!). In fact, it's imperative that I do this, for in doing so not only am I teaching her about God's love for her but she is also teaching me likewise.

The Lonely Pastor or the Navel-gazing Christian?

One of the difficult things about pastoral work, it seems to me, is the lack of community for pastors. At my church I am the pastor, so I cannot also be a fellow traveller in the same way. Of course, I hope that over time I can grow closer to the folks in my congregation. I certainly don't think that professional distance is something pastors should aim for. At the same time, pastors, though human beings like everyone else, cannot share all of their struggles and hurts with those to whom they minister. There is a time and place for vulnerability, but a pastor, I think, needs to be prudent and discerning. But since this is the case, pastors also have to be guarded. At least I find myself feeling this way, right or wrong.

So for most believers the local congregation, ideally, is the place where they experience spiritual intimacy and accountability, where they discover Christ in the midst of relationships and friendships. Whether it's in a casual conversation or a ladies prayer meeting, there are opportunities for the opening of hearts, of mutual prayer, and moments where personal connections are made. But the pastor is not in the same position as the average Christian. He cannot open himself to those in his congregation like they might to one another. I know that I more or less try to be myself when around people from my church, but that isn't the same thing as sharing and praying about very personal matters. So it is that I find I experience a definite lack of spiritual intimacy, that sense of fellowship and communion that the church is intended, at least in part, to provide.

Rather than whine about this--and I hope that I haven't been doing that!--I simply want to say that pastoral isolation of this kind means that it often feels as though growing more mature in Christ is a responsibility left solely to the individual pastor. And while much of our North American Christian culture is individualistic so that even many Christians see their spiritual lives as largely private, I think that it's even more difficult for pastors. I only know that pastor or not that I have a long way to go when it comes to growing in the faith. And I feel like I can't go any further without someone to lend a hand.

Is it possible that what I am experiencing is not at all particular to pastors? Is it possible that because of the privatization of spirituality and specifically Christian faith that there are lots of Christians in the same boat? I can't speak for anyone else, but I will say this: when our worship service ends on Sunday mornings, I feel as though we're just getting started. It feels as though we could, and should, keep going, that we should move onto talk about what we sang about, what we prayed about, and what we heard in Scripture and sermon. It's pretty difficult to nurture a strong sense of community when you only get together once a week.

This leads me to ask a bunch of questions: Are we inviting people into a larger sense of what Christ calls the church to be on Sunday mornings, letting them know that this one hour of worship and celebration is merely the tip of the iceberg, or are we communicating that this time together is meant simply to get them through another week? Are we effectively teaching that God is not an add-on to the rest of their lives, and that he's there not only to help them cope with their life and their problems as they define them but that God calls us to radically reorganize our lives around his story, his kingdom, his will? Do even we as pastors fully comprehend our task in this regard? Are we even able to take time to consider these questions? Are we able to put these questions to our congregations effectively? Have we and our congregations been captured and convicted by the biblical vision of a God who enters time and history to save and redeem a fallen creation for his glory and his purposes?

And so then maybe we have to ask, what does this have to do with feeling isolated as a pastor or with Christians being too private about their faith? What does this say about having a greater sense of spiritual intimacy and community? Maybe nothing, but maybe everything. Even if we were to catch but a glimpse of the God who has chosen to reveal to the saints the "mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations" (Col. 1: 26), I wonder if we would be so spiritually moribund as we sometimes seem to be. I do think that there is no way a greater sense of community and intimacy can emerge or happen by directly seeking it. I think that first and foremost it is only as we seek the Lord's face together will we be drawn together as a community. Even if we are lonely, and even if we need to create a space for greater spiritual intimacy in our churches, remedying such problems would only amount to spiritual navel-gazing without first having a vision of a holy and gracious God who invites us to relationship, not to meet our needs but for his glory.