Getting to the Last Page: Part 3

My brother-in-law’s wife apparently has a habit when it comes to reading books—a habit that really only applies to fiction and not non-fiction, but a habit I’ll likely never emulate all the same: she reads the last page first. I suppose that’s one way of making sure that you get to the last page and of alleviating the suspense about how the story is going to work out. I guess it helps in case something happens and for some reason you aren’t able to read all those pages between the beginning and end—you can, with relief, say, “Ah, but at least I know how it all turns out!” But I don’t do this, and not only because I rarely read fiction.

My problem is different. You see, I have a lot of books. And many of them I have started reading. And many of them I have not finished reading. And since most of them are non-fiction, skipping to the last page for a glance wouldn’t help me much. But because I end up putting books aside, forgetting about them, and not finishing them, it’s always something of a triumph when I actually manage to get to the last page.

That’s why I can say I have been victorious and triumphant over the last several weeks. I have actually read and completed a number of books: A.W. Tozer’s The Knowledge of the Holy, Timothy Keller’s The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz: Non-Religious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality and his Searching for God Knows What, and Henri J.M. Nouwen’s The Living Reminder: Service and Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ. Each of these authors is very different from one another. And I have appreciated, enjoyed, learned from, and been moved by them all in one way or another.

This time, however, rather than my problem being not finishing a book it might have been plowing through the book to make sure I do get to the last page. Sometimes I have the tendency to keep reading rather than stopping and taking time to reflect on what I have just read.

One example: last night after posting on discovering Nouwen’s The Living Reminder, I finished it. Now, granted, it was a thin book, easy to read in an evening. But easy to read doesn’t mean easy to digest or process. And his reflections on ministry certainly warrant more prayerful reflection (and at a future date I will share some of what he says).

Particularly when reading authors who are reflecting on the Christian life, theologically or pastorally or personally, I feel as though I am in the company of spiritual companions. And depending on the author, I may also feel as though this author is very nearly a pastor to me, a guide on how to listen more attentively to God’s voice in my life.

But for such a thing to happen, ideally, we have to digest what these authors tell us. Truth takes time to absorb. Books involve us in a spiritual conversation and our taking time to think about what we’ve read—something not always easy to do or something we’re inclined to do—becomes our half of the dialogue.

I confess that sometimes I feel guilty after reading a book, because even though while I was in the process of reading it so moved me or helped me I find I can’t remember specific quotations and would struggle to convey what it said to someone else. Often in trying to get across the meaning or impact of what I’ve read to someone else, it comes out drained of colour and lacking in the very qualities that engaged me in the first place. That makes me wonder whether I’ve really read it after all, if you get my meaning. And this is why I have the habit of reading paragraphs, sections, and sometimes whole chapters of books to my wife—I want to share what it says, but I want to do that without getting in the way. My wife is often, but not always, very accommodating about this.

All that said, I do hope that even if I can’t remember specific quotes from a good book and can’t always convey very well what it says in my own words, that somehow the simple act of reading it has changed me and formed me. That is, just like having a conversation with a friend can make you feel loved and understood—more human—even if you don’t remember all the details of the conversation, the important thing is that you had the conversation, that you sat across from one another at Tim’s; so here.

Anyway, already I want to go back with some of these books and be more intentional about gleaning wisdom from them by reflecting on them. With Nouwen’s book, I intentionally underlined here and there. This is also a good way to make a book a conversation partner. I suppose this would help me to slow down and digest a little more. And it occurs to me that rushing through a book that deserves more careful attention is not unlike trying to rush through a conversation with a person who deserves our attention. We gain more by not rushing to the last page.

Getting to the Last Page: Part 2

In one of my recent posts I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ.”

At the heart of what I was feeling was something of a disconnect that can occur too easily: the separation of ‘professional’ ministry and personal faith. Part of the reason a pastor may experience this is because each week you’re responsible for preaching, organizing a worship service, perhaps preparing music, leading group studies, and visiting; and in the midst of all this—the appointments and events that fill our day-planners—our own relationship with God can end up on the periphery.

I know that I’ve felt this. Life can get pretty busy, and between making sure I fulfill all of my pastoral and family responsibilities my own personal faith can sometimes fall between the cracks. But when this happens, it doesn’t take all that long—but even then perhaps it takes too long!—to realize that something isn’t quite right. Something is askew.

And though all of my vocational responsibilities are getting done, some indefinable quality needed in the midst of fulfilling my vocational calling is missing. That indefinable quality is the one thing that is indispensable: God. And of course God is not a quality, but a person, the Person, the reason why my vocation exists at all. But because he’s not, strictly speaking, visible, we can, unfortunately, ignore him and carry on doing ministry on our own.

Now when I say we can ignore him, I don’t really mean that. Instead, we neglect prayer. We read books other than Scripture. We fail to spend time quietly meditating in his presence. We avoid dealing with our own spiritual life for the sake of the ministry and in doing so we inadvertently impair our ministry; that is, we hinder our own ability to serve others by being reminders of God’s grace and light.

But the fact is that the two cannot be separated; professional ministry and personal faith go hand in hand. It is the dynamic between the two that makes a pastor. I say that, of course, and I believe it, but I am not always the best example of it.

So all of this is going through my head, and in my case I’m trying to find my way back to that balance, and while in my office one day I come across—accidentally?—a book. I was looking for a completely different book, which I never did find. The book whose spine drew my attention was Henri J.M. Nouwen’s The Living Reminder: Service and Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ. I actually took it off the shelf because I couldn’t read the spine! It’s a thin book, less than a hundred pages, and I once I had it my hands I took a quick glance at the introduction. Here is what I read:

“What are the spiritual resources of ministers? What prevents them from becoming dull, sullen, lukewarm bureaucrats, people who have many projects, plans, and appointments but who have lost their heart somewhere in the midst of their activities? What keeps ministers vital, alive, energetic, and full of zeal? What allows them to preach and teach, counsel and celebrate with a continuing sense of wonder, joy, gratitude, and praise? These are the questions of this book.”

And as soon as my eyes poured over these words, I knew I had to read this book. It was just one of those moments where it felt like what I could have regarded as a coincidence or accident—the plucking off the shelf of a book I wasn’t even looking for—was actually a God moment.

That being the case, I’m reading it in anticipation that God wants to say something to me through these pages. I don’t know precisely what yet and maybe I won’t know right away. I’ll hopefully have more to share later. But right now reading this unassuming little volume feels to me like a small, seemingly insignificant act of obedience. I’m hoping and praying that my reading will bear rich fruit even if my doing so only results in a small nugget of insight or encouragement. That alone is reason enough to get the last page.

Getting to the Last Page: Part 1

My office shelves are well-stocked with many books. Most are books of theology and biblical studies. Many are academic, and quite a number fall somewhere between academic and popular-level reading. I used to buy books much more frequently, unsurprising since I once was but am no longer a university student.

During that period of my life not only did I get the textbooks required for my courses, I also frequented the religion and theology sections of any used bookstores I could find. I would scour the shelves for volumes recommended by professors, for books by authors I was already reading, for tomes that would be financially inaccessible at retail, and for classic works I knew I should have.

In more recent years I have not been as avid a book-buyer. This is partly because of the cost of books, but also because, while I used to buy books in the hopes that one day I might get around to reading them, now I usually only purchase books that I know (or am pretty sure) I will read. That narrows it down considerably. There are books and even book-sets (Barth’s Church Dogmatics being one example) that would look mighty impressive on a bookcase but would likely gather dust rather than get read.

This isn’t counting books I have gotten with every intention of reading but which, after I have begun reading them, have gotten set aside either because of time or forgetfulness or more immediately pressing responsibilities.

So I’m always glad these days when I get books (either myself or as gifts) that I actually manage to finish. I have a few recent examples, one of which I’ll mention in this post. The first is A.W. Tozer’s The Knowledge of the Holy, which is part theological treatise on God’s attributes and part devotional on God’s attributes.

What I really appreciated about Tozer’s writing is that he really took some very abstract ideas, such as God’s self-existence or transcendence, and personalized them—that is, he makes the connection between the attributes of God and our own relationship with God. This is not a dry theology text, but a meditation on God’s nature that, if read prayerfully and thoughtfully, cannot help but move the heart as well as inform the mind.

Tozer is also intentional about making each chapter (one on each attribute) relatively short, never more than 10 pages each and often between 5 and 6 pages. This makes it ideal for reading one chapter a day along with your Bible reading. At the beginning of each chapter there is also a prayer whose theme reflects the attribute examined in that particular chapter. Even in his exposition he sometimes breaks into prayer—not unlike Karl Barth in Prayer, his book on the Lord’s Prayer and the Reformers' interpretation of it.

Another thing I like about Tozer’s book is that in a day and age when in evangelical circles we can sometimes seem too cozy or comfortable in our relationship with God, he communicates effectively the holiness, that is, the otherness, the apart-from-us-ness, of God. And in doing so, any sensitive reader will, at times, be both comforted and convicted, challenged and assured.

And rather than start from our experience and ask, “What does this mean for my relationship with and understanding of God?” he starts with a characteristic of God and asks, “How should this inform my experience and my relationship with God?” God comes first. Who God is shapes our experience and understanding, not the other way around. That this is a basic biblical approach doesn’t stop a lot of believers from relying on their own experience more than what the Bible says about God’s nature and character.

Several times while reading The Knowledge of the Holy I found myself thinking how great a sermon series this would be—and by that I mean, how great would it be just to stand at the pulpit and read Tozer to the congregation. You know a book is at the very least a good book if it’s one you’d like to share with others; you know it’s a great book if you have to find a way to share it with others. Tozer’s book, for me at least, is an example of the latter.

Learning to Avoid Short-hand

In high school I remember taking a course in short-hand. Beyond that, I don’t remember much. I do recall that short-hand consists of a series of odd squiggles and lines and dots that are supposed to represent different letters and words. Learning to use it was supposed to help us take notes more quickly—though I have no memory whatever of actually using what I was learning in this course. So I guess it wasn’t so helpful at all, except perhaps in keeping my GPA nice and steady.

Thinking about it now, I’m sort of glad that I have long forgotten how to use it. I also don’t have any evidence that I actually took the course, no notes filled with tests and quizzes and assignments on short-hand. And again, I’m glad. If I were to find them now, I’d have no way to read those notes shy of re-acquainting myself with short-hand. The notes would be useless to me and indecipherable to anyone else—unless they happened to be adept at this particularly arcane skill. But, honestly, unless you’re in need of some sort of code language to hide secret messages, why would you want to know how to use short-hand?

It strikes me, though, that in our world people use all kinds of short-hand, even if not of the formal sort that I once learned in high school. Being able to use a form of short-hand is basically about being able to say more with less or at least the same with less. It’s a language, a way of communicating without having to have an abundance of explanation. To that extent, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it’s helpful to be able to make yourself understood with minimal verbiage or by using mutually understood terms and references that get the point the across between parties that already understand the terms and references.

Often organizations and groups and limited networks of people develop forms of short-hand. This is even true in churches. As Christians we use all kinds of terms and references that are a form of short-hand. (Check this post for instances of this—see what number you come up with!) For instance, we will ask a fellow Christian about a third party, “Is he born again?” or “Is she saved?” This is short-hand for asking if the person has placed their trust in God, asked him to forgive their sins and has entered into a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and has confessed him as Lord and Saviour.

As you can easily see, asking if someone is born again or saved is a lot easier than asking if they have placed their trust in God, been forgiven, has entered in a personal relationship with Jesus Christ by confessing him as Lord and Saviour! But even in the longer form of the question, there are terms and references that could be considered a form of short-hand, such as “a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.” What does that mean?

Some of the short-hand in the church is straight out of Scripture and most of it is at least biblically based. It’s a form of quickly summarizing what we believe and what we want to say around people who already have something of a grasp of the in-language. I would never suggest ridding our vocabulary of these terms or our conversation, prayers, sermons, and studies of these references. Especially when it comes to the terms that come right from the Bible, I would argue that we need to retain them. But we do need to realize that as a form of short-hand, using such terms and references thoughtlessly comes with a few difficulties and pitfalls, both for us and for those outside the church.

First, us. One pitfall about such short-hand or in-language is that when using it we often, even in churches, assume we mean the same thing by the same terms. We’ve all heard about the danger involved when we assume something (or at least I assume you have. If not, break down the word into three parts and see what the two parties become who make assumptions in conversation!).

Seriously, this probably happens more than we think. Words carry loads of meaning, even beyond their biblical intention (that is, when they are biblical terms). People bring to the words they use wads of associations and experiences that may or may not be shared with the person they’re talking with over coffee after the church service, colouring the meaning such that, were the persons to carefully define their terms, they would realize that they were not on the same wavelength at all.

I know that certain terms and references some Christians use cause a certain reaction in me, not based on what they might mean by those terms but by what I have come to associate with those terms. One of those, just as an example, is when someone refers to another Christian as anointed, meaning that said individual is specially used or gifted by God to speak or minister in an especially powerful way. Usually the term is used of leaders in the church, pastors or teachers or sometimes people who minister through music.

Now when I hear the term anointed, what it says to me has something of a Pentecostal ring to it. That is, for a preacher to be anointed his preaching, both through content and delivery, has to result in a lot of amens, tears, and even conversions. It suggests to me that the response to the sermon is immediate and emotional and direct. You know as you preach how people are responding to your preaching.

One the flipside, it suggests that preaching that is not like this, not anointed, is somehow inferior preaching. It may have been a good message, but it was not one that moved people. It wasn’t Spirit-filled even if it was Word-filled. Now there may very well be lots of sermons that have great content but perhaps aren’t very inspiring—and don’t result in emotional responses in the congregation—but I wouldn’t limit the power of a particular sermon to this understanding of anointed.

For me to associate all of this with the word anointed may or may not be right. But all I have to hear is the word—“That pastor is anointed!”—and that’s what immediately comes to my mind. And, subsequently, I wonder what such a person would make of my sermons, which hardly ever result in noticeable emotional responses. What does it say of my preaching? In my worst moments, when I hear such language, I question whether I am anointed in any sense of the word!

Another problem amongst Christians when it comes to in-language is that when we become too accustomed to such terms and easy points of reference, we run the risk of not thinking more deeply about what we’re saying, about the words and language we use. If our thinking doesn’t go deeper than the formulaic terms we use, that is a definite problem.

But we don’t only misunderstand and confuse one another with our in-language. We confuse non-believers, people who don’t have the advantage of having some familiarity with our way of using what a friend of mine used to call “Christianese.” People who aren’t believers also bring a bunch of baggage to some of the terms and references we use—just think of what more liberal Americans think when they hear the terms “evangelical” or “born-again Christian.” They hear things, in some cases, that we don’t want them to hear.

For someone to use churchy-talk with a non-Christian is just as problematic as me using academic theological language with other believers. So, for instance, while some might know that soteriology is the study of the Christian doctrine of salvation, many if not most Christians would not—but they don’t really need to since to understand salvation knowing such a specialized academic term is unnecessary.

To that extent, I would not use a word like soteriology in everyday conversation and if I ever did use it in a Bible study or sermon, I would carefully define it so people would understand—never use such language simply to impress people, to let them know that you know what it means even if they don’t. The problem, though, is that we don’t have to use a word like this to confuse or mislead someone outside the faith—just saying so and so is “saved” might be enough. Depending on the person, what we say might be no more decipherable than those short-hand squiggles and lines I learned in high school!

This kind of thing occurs to me when I’m preaching or leading my congregation in prayer—because I can sometimes catch myself using words and phrases that are essentially short-cuts, especially when in the moment no other words or phrases come to mind! So I’m guilty of this too!

But if instead we intentionally steer away from using short-hand in-language or at least become more accustomed to articulating our beliefs using language the person on the street can grasp, not only will we be better communicators to those around us who aren’t Christians but we will also be challenged to think more deliberately about the faith we profess. It does us good also.

We should—once in awhile—stop and think about how we express our faith to those around us. We should consider our words, and understand that our words matter. Because if our goal—or one of our goals—is to proclaim our faith, to communicate it clearly, and articulate it in ways that people can understand, then we should make the effort to ensure that people’s first-hand experience of our faith is not our short-hand.

Receiving (and sometimes missing) grace

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ. And even saying my God is what I do for a living misconstrues the truth and misleads. It’s a weird vocation in that who you are is all mixed up and can get all confused with what you do. If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still read my Bible, but I wouldn’t see sermon outlines in every passage I read (not that I do this all the time but it does happen). If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still pray, but I wouldn’t be leading a whole congregation in prayer each week. Being a pastor means blurring indistinguishably the line between the personal and professional or vocational.

Ironically, sometimes all that goes along with being a pastor can have the effect of crowding out consistent prayer time and Bible study. The very thing I want to teach others to do, I struggle to get done myself. Again, the language of “do” intrudes. The word “be” is much better. But I can’t teach others to be something I myself am not. I can’t pass on habits, spiritual or otherwise, that I don’t myself practice. I worry about this – I worry about how my own failures and weaknesses affect my congregation and how perfect I need to be to be the pastor they need me to be.

Underlying this sometimes, and in some ways, is a failure to grasp grace. Core to the good news is that God comes to us—forgives, redeems, reveals, makes new, and heals—without any effort on our part. We don’t deserve this. He doesn’t have to extend this grace, but grace—and love—are his character (as are holiness, mercy, goodness, justice and many other attributes). He passes on salvation not as a prize for good behaviour but out of an overflowing of good will toward his creatures.

I admit I don’t get grace well enough—that is, while I understand it theologically and biblically and intellectually, many of my attitudes, reactions, moods, and ways of thinking have not yet been sufficiently transformed (converted!) by the reality of this grace, by the reality of who God is. And who he is for us.

I hope admitting such a thing isn’t too startling in coming from a pastor. All I know is that when I look at myself, I see so much need for spiritual transformation. I can discern endless cracks in the walls, leaks in the plumbing, and drafts coming in from the outside.

One of the things I don’t like about being a pastor is that I spend a lot of time not being transparent. That is, most of the time around folks in my congregation it isn’t appropriate to admit to my own struggles and weaknesses and flaws. This is true even if one of my struggles is particularly dogging me at the moment. Finding a place where one can be spiritually open with all the messiness found in even a pastor’s heart is not easy. Companions are not easy to locate. Or maybe I’m not very good at recognizing them when they’re standing right in front of me. Maybe part of me feels I have to be closed off even to people outside the church who could be potential spiritual companions.

Even when posting on this blog, I’ve been quite cautious about the degree of my openness and how personal and direct I allow myself to be—it’s not an anonymous blog and people I know, including some from my church, read it (once in awhile anyway!). Exercising discretion in disclosing personal matters is something every pastor learns quickly.

Part of me wonders (and is still very much figuring out) how a pastor is supposed to relate to his congregation—what he should be and what they would like him to be and what he ought to be could very well be three different things! Though doubtless there is at least some overlap.

Whatever the relationship, certainly grace plays a central role. For even if the pastor does disclose a personal struggle (though not one damaging to his authority or credibility or the well-being of the church; that is, not serious moral failure) that startles some or is simply unexpected in its honesty, hopefully people will still see the pastor as pastor even if the cracks and flaws are more clearly seen. Certainly that is how I hope my people see me—and it’s how I hope they see one another: though broken, God-made; though flawed, redeemed; and though struggling with sin, rescued from its slavery. Seeing one another through the eyes of grace means seeing one another as God does—means relating to one another how God does. We don’t (hopefully!) expect moral perfection of ourselves; and neither should we expect it of those around us.

My prayer for the coming year—though not a steadfast New Year’s Resolution—is that I can learn to rest more comfortably in God’s grace and that I will be, in my attitudes and actions, more transformed by this same grace. I wonder how much our church lives—our journeys of faith and relationships with God—would change if only we had a deeper grasp of not only grace but of the God who in mercy continually extends it in our direction.

A Brief Post-Christmas, Post-New Year's Catch Up

So once again I wonder: should I even bother posting at all? I ask this only because I've been away from it for a month and a half and there are only, likely, less than a dozen people who would even have noticed!

Though my lack of posting this time was not my fault. My computer had to have a hard-drive replaced. This necessitated a three week absence. Fortunately, I did not suffer from the sort of withdrawal I was warned might occur. I gather that some folks, when having to do without their computers, esperience severe symptoms such as sweating, seizures, and incoherent muttering. Shock eventually sets in. Meanwhile, with the exception of having to hand write my sermon notes and use the phone rather than e-mail on a few occasions, I barely noticed. I'm not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

In the interim, Christmas has come and gone. Though our tree and decorations are still up. It was a good, if busy holiday, this year. It was especially fun watching Ella, now four, opening her presents. That was really the best part, as much as I, I dare to admit, also love getting gifts!

Time has flown by in another way too. My wife is well into her third trimester with our twin boys. We have a lot to do before they arrive! Our house is modest, perhaps even small, and so there's a fair bit of organization and preparation involved in making sure we have a place for them and for us. It will mean juggling our three bedrooms and their present functions!

Having two more kids in the house -- twin boys -- is a reality I can't even begin to imagine. It still seems unreal, abstract, like something I know is going to happen (and relatively soon, in this case) but still have no context for understanding. Of course, we already have one child so we're not completely unfamiliar with the process. But I'm guessing that having these additions to the family will have the effect of re-orienting us so completely that we will be adjusting for quite some time.

All that said, with church responsibilities, the upcoming birth of twins, not to mention all of the other things life tends to throw our way, I wonder sometimes how much a priority I should make this blog. When I do the actual math (time [potentially] expended [if I want to make it worthwhile for readers] + readers [both the number and level of interest they have in this blog] + pleasure gained from amateur, inconsistent writing efforts on my part), the answer isn't always encouraging! Let's just say, I'm thinking about it.

For now, though, I'll try to keep it up and see if I have anything worth saying.