Grace and Brokenness

“The heart is a bloom, shoots up through the stony ground.”
– U2, “Beautiful Day”

“But a certain sign of grace is this: From the broken earth flowers come up, pushing through the dirt.”
– David Crowder Band, “Wholly Yours”

“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.”
– Paul the Apostle, 2 Corinthians 4:7

None of us likes to be vulnerable, to display weakness. Oddly, and paradoxically perhaps, this also true of people in churches. You would think that if there were a place where we could be more honest about our fallibility and frailties, it would be among God’s gathered people, people who gather under the sign of the cross and the promise of the resurrection. Instead, we hide behind masks of feigned happiness; or at least sometimes we do.

Our lives are a combination of stony ground and broken earth where only God is able to make anything bloom or any flowers push through—indeed, we are, as Paul writes, earthen vessels, each of us an example not only of grace but of our perpetual need for it. Why we have an instinctual propensity to conceal this truth behind a veneer of strength, I don’t know for sure.

This isn’t to say that we should all put our particular weaknesses on view for all to see—discernment and wisdom is needed when making ourselves vulnerable. But I do think that some basic acknowledgement that we are all broken, all in various states of disrepair, is an important for what it means to be church. More than that, only when we can be free to express honestly our all too human shortcomings will we also open ourselves to the possibility of grace.

Weakness—indeed, vulnerability—lies at the very heart of the gospel, if not at its end. We worship a God who, mystery of mysteries, willingly subjected himself not only to the limitations of human flesh but also of human suffering—an excruciating form of martyrdom that, in human terms, was a sign not of glory and strength, but of humiliation and shame. Only because Jesus is our God and Lord, the same Jesus who made the journey to Golgotha, can we also admit to our weakness and even in our weakness discover God’s power.

In this way, admitting to our brokenness is not a source of shame for us, a cause for embarrassment, but rather the only route available to receive the grace of God. We do this personally when we confess our need for Christ and bring our sins to him so that we might receive forgiveness; but we also should do this communally. Recognizing together our need for divine provision and strength becomes a vehicle for God’s grace to become operative in our lives.

I have heard people say that they do not attend church or try it out because they don’t feel good enough to sit amongst all those good Christians. Such logic reveals two things: first, a tacit recognition of their own human imperfection and sin and, second, a misunderstanding of what being in church actually entails. Or what being in church should entail; sometimes we believers can feed the very misunderstanding that keeps others from exploring a life of faith in our communities. That we do so is to our shame because it keeps people who need grace from understanding the gospel.

In my experience, sometimes unbelievers are more prepared to be vulnerable and honest than believers about their sin and failures. Maybe those of us who gather from week to week in sanctuaries can learn something from this example, especially since the only thing that separates us from those who’ve yet to come to faith is the very grace all of us stand in such desperate need of receiving: we actively recognize our need for grace while there are many, even knowing of their brokenness, do not. The only difference between those who are Christians and those who are not is Jesus and his grace, his inexhaustible willingness and endless capacity for causing flowers to bloom even in broken earth and stony ground.

The Story of My Life (Receiving the Call): Part Three

Below is the last autobiographical portion of my association license application, and rather than recount details of ministry and life I try and express my experience of call. For me sensing and being sure of a call to ministry has always been a struggle. Hopefully I make clear why.

On the subject of the “call,” I must say that I have almost never in my life felt anything as certain except the existence of God and his revelation in Christ. I almost always struggle with big decisions. And once I make a decision, there are times when I wonder if I’ve made the right one. That was true of graduate school, of marriage, of having kids, and of pastoral ministry. This is part and parcel of my personality (my wife can verify this!). But it has caused me some grief when I have felt doubt about my vocation and whether I am suited to it, often when I feel something hasn’t gone well in a ministry context. Sometimes I rub up against the limitations of my training and experience. But, truth be told, I suspect everyone at some point experiences such doubts and questions. For me, perhaps it’s just more pronounced; however, I don’t experience such feelings with the frequency I once did. My sense of call isn’t perfect but it has grown in strength and confidence over these last few years.

More than anything, I am certain that God is real and that he has ultimately and perfectly revealed himself in Jesus Christ. I might not be able to prove this, but I can proclaim it and give witness to it and pray that the Spirit does his work of convicting, encouraging, and guiding in the hearts and minds and lives of those who hear my all too human proclamation and see my all too human witness. I know that Christ is the source of my life—present and eternal—and that apart from him I can do nothing. I trust that he is the reason, the purpose, for all of creation because all things were made through him. Though pastoral ministry is a rough road to travel (in ways I hardly yet know!), I want to do whatever I can, through whatever gifts God has given me, to live according to this truth and to help others do likewise. And to me at least it seems the vocation of pastor is particularly well-suited to doing this.

The Story of My Life (or At Least Part of It!): Part Two

And it continues . . .

The first intimations that perhaps a life of ministry was beckoning came while studying at Acadia. On one occasion, when visiting my mother on the Miramichi, her priest (she was still a practicing Catholic then but is now a member at Union Street Baptist in St. Stephen) invited me over for a visit after hearing I was studying theology at Acadia. Having accepted the invitation I hadn’t anticipated that the Bishop of the diocese would also be there. After some initially awkward small-talk, I was asked the big question: Have you ever considered becoming a priest? My answer was a resounding but polite no. That sort of stopped the conversation in its tracks. In the end it felt like they were less interested in me than they were in finding someone to join their ranks. My reason for saying no at this point was that I hoped to marry someday and certainly didn’t feel a call to ministry (at least not of that sort!).

That being said, at Acadia I did for a time consider teaching in an overseas missions context. Looking back, I recall being in contact with a couple of organizations but I don’t recall why such explorations fizzled. Still, many of my classmates at Acadia were students preparing for pastoral ministry and something about hearing of their experiences, in addition to a growing sense that there was more to the Christian life than theology texts, led me to inquire about adding MDiv studies to my MA. Conversations with the dean of students at that stage made me reconsider. Since I still was “between denominations” it didn’t make a lot of sense.

During my time at McMaster I began to sense a desire to try preaching. This was especially true when a friend of mine, who had initially planned on pursuing a PhD in math and science, abandoned that direction for seminary. I had pastor friends all around me. And since I really enjoyed teaching, preaching seemed like a natural extension. And though I probably could have volunteered or asked for the opportunity and been given it by my pastor at the time, I was not someone who was forward enough to do so. In one candid moment when I mentioned to a pastor friend that the idea of pastoring and/or preaching had begun to occur to me, he said that he could see me being a pastor. Though he did say, too, that he could see me as an Anglican minister! I still don’t know what that means entirely!

I think God had to come at me through some back-doors, or at least some side-doors, to call me into ministry. For some time I had viewed what pastors do as dull. Even they seemed dull. It didn’t seem like an interesting calling at all. Studying theology, having my head in books and full of deep thoughts, was far more edifying than what I had observed of pastors and their calling. I also felt like something of an outsider in the Baptist world since so many pastors and students had grown up in it—or so it seemed to me—and had a level of familiarity with the landscape and its inhabitants that I did not.

My first actual opportunity to preach was in summer of 2002. I was living in St. Stephen with my mother until Alisha and I got married and I got a call from her pastor. He told me that he was going on vacation and was wondering if I would be willing to fill his pulpit for one of the weeks he was away. Given the fact that I had been thinking about preaching, this seemed like a gift from heaven; however, knowing what my first sermon must have been like for the congregation, I’m not sure they experienced it as the gift I did! It showed a lot of signs that I was a theology student and not yet a pastor. But I did it, and it was—despite the questionable quality of the sermon itself—a positive experience.

Since we were getting married that summer (2002) Alisha and I were also trying to find work of some sort. Blissville Baptist Church was looking for a pastor since theirs had just retired, and both Alisha and I were interviewed for pulpit supply. I can’t say whether or not the deacons of the church were accepting our resumes for a possible calling to more than supply preaching, but that is certainly all I had in mind at the time. And call us for pulpit supply they did—several times!

Shortly before Christmas 2002 they asked if we would consider a joint call to part-time ministry at their church beginning in June of 2003. After much prayer and conversation and reflection, we agreed that we felt God calling us to say yes to this ministry opportunity. Whether pastoral ministry was going to be a more permanent vocation for either of us still wasn’t certain, but I at least saw this as the chance to try the vocation on for size. It fit, it turns out, even if it took time for me to see so.

When the financial situation at Blissville made it clear to the deacons, congregation, and to us that maintaining even a part-time pastoral ministry was untenable, Alisha and I found ourselves in a place of uncertainty. We knew God had called us to Blissville but might he perhaps call us to yet another church?

That was about the time when I received a phone call from the search committee of Nerepis Baptist Church. After the initial interview both Alisha and I (though they were calling me, they also wanted her for part of the interview) had lingering doubts and questions. So we asked for a second interview and it felt like all of our doubts were addressed and our questions were answered. I accepted the call. And I am still here.

The Story of My Life (or At Least Part of It!): Part One

As a Baptist pastor who is not yet ordained but on the way to being so, I have to re-apply annually for what is called an association license to minister. This process is meant to reaffirm my call to ministry and to certify me for the ministry to which I've been called. It's a helpful process overall but this year it's gotten more involved insofar as I have to provide in writing a description of my conversion and call as well as a brief statement on the main areas of Christian doctrine.

Below is a section of the conversion/call section of my application. In it I simply describe how I came to faith and some of the ways in which my faith progressed and grew during my undergraduate years. You might find it interesting, you might not. Either way, here it is:

Though it would be easy for theological reasons to distance myself from my religious upbringing in the Roman Catholic Church, the truth is that my experiences of growing up in the Catholic Church, along with experiences with particular family members, was formative for my eventual conversion. That is, there were both positive elements and negative elements to this upbringing. Those that are positive I still carry with me, and those that were negative prompted me to seek elsewhere what I felt was missing from my Catholic experience.

The fact is that I have always been the kind of person who wanted to align myself with whatever was true. I wanted to live truthfully, to believe truthfully, and to feel like I was standing on a solid foundation. At first (in high school) when I was given reason to question some of the particulars of Roman Catholic theology (the Mass, Mary, the role of saints, and papal authority especially), I felt like the ground beneath my feet was crumbling. It was like the earth was shifting on its axis and I was losing my balance—all because what I thought was true, what I was raised to believe as true, might not be after all.

But over time as I read the Bible, was involved with IVCF, and attended Baptist churches (varied according to where I was studying), I came to understand more clearly the truth of who God was—and specifically, who Jesus was (is!) and that he wants a personal relationship with me. This personal dimension had been all but lacking in my childhood where faith was more about giving assent to certain beliefs and practicing certain rituals.

As far as my conversion is concerned, it’s probably fair to say that it was gradual, more the Emmaus Road type than that of the Damascus Road. It wasn’t dramatic, and while the change was gradual, it was evident and clear that God was at work. And despite the fact that much of my spiritual journey was characterized by wanting to know what was true, my actual conversion had much more to do with a deep feeling of my need for God, that only he could make something out of the deeply insecure young man that I was. Only he could give my life purpose and direction where before I had none.

Without nailing down one particular moment, it would have been toward the end of my second year at Mount Allison that I truly and consciously gave myself to Christ. No doubt it was the cumulative effect of my having been searching for so long, and of taking courses on the Bible and theology (the intellectual side) and of being involved with IVCF and a local Baptist church (the personal side). From that moment on, I began to change from someone with absolutely no personal confidence or self-esteem to someone who found his purpose and strength in Christ—and who in time even took on leadership roles, albeit modest ones.

Since at this stage I was still struggling with the degree of commitment I should have to a local church, much of my initial growing in faith happened through my involvement with IVCF. Along with participating in and taking on leadership roles in my chapter, I also soaked up the opportunities to go IVCF weekend retreats for times of worship, Bible study, prayer, and fellowship. Those days of fresh Bible reading and prayer, of fellowship and outreach, while they seem so far away now, were absolutely formational in my own understanding of personal faith, discipleship and mission.

Through all of this becoming a pastor never even appeared on my radar. I think this is largely because I wasn’t committed to a local congregation and therefore had very little understanding or appreciation of local church life and ministry. It almost seemed to be an adjunct to my experience in IVCF rather than vice-versa. Until I finally made a conscious decision to seek membership in a local church and undergo believer’s baptism, I think I was very much a long-distance lover with respect to the church. Thankfully, I didn’t remain so.

To be continued . . .

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.

Surprise!

Sometimes God surprises us.

Sometimes?

Well, maybe he surprises us more often than that. Or it could be too that things that should leave us surprised and even gasping in wonder instead become commonplace to the point of being mundane. Those of us who follow Jesus can, over time, come to take certain realities for granted. Good news becomes old hat. This is unfortunate, because there is hardly anything more surprising than salvation. But having been raised in church and in having gone to church essentially my whole life makes it more difficult sometimes to appreciate what in Christ I have been given. I think this is true of more people than just myself. And so we almost stop believing that God can surprise us.

I've been reading great book recently by Miroslav Volf called Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace. Once I am finished, I plan on posting a fuller book review. Right now I'm only about halfway through. But his description of God's nature as Giver and Forgiver is worth its weight in gold. It can occasionally take someone else to stir your heart and mind and remind you, and perhaps teach you anew, about the heart of the good news and the person and work of Jesus Christ. While my family attended a tea party on Sunday afternoon, I took some time for myself to relax and read more of this book. And in the process God surprised me, reminded me, and even brought me something of a fresh understanding of the reality of salvation.

Here's just one example: We often talk about Jesus' death for our sin as replacing ours. Jesus died for our sins, in other words, so we would not have to. And Christ is indeed our substitute. But, as Volf points out, this is not quite how scriptural logic and theology runs. In 2 Corinthians 5:14 Paul says, "One has died for all; therefore all have died." Then Volf says this: "Christ's death doesn't replace our death. It enacts it, he [Paul] suggested . . . Now we see that we were also in Christ. What happened to him, happened to us. When he was condemned, we were condemned. When he died, we died." Volf observes that this what our union with Christ entails. This is what it means to be in Christ. This example connects to Volf's discussion of forgiveness, God's justice, as well as a couple of false images of God that people sometimes gravitate toward.

Anyway, this may or may not genuinely convey my reason for surprise, but it reminded me of how some of our more common ways of speaking about salvation miss the mark or at least the depth of the biblical presentation. We can have very cliched and formulaic ways of talking about salvation in our churches that in their own way diminish the staggering reality of what God has done in Christ. A part of our being able to not only appreciate this reality ourselves but to proclaim this reality to others means recovering a deeper biblical understanding built on the very language Scripture uses. We can hardly expect other people to see salvation in Christ as good news, when for us it continues to be old hat! We, too, need to be surprised (again!) at who God is and what he has done.

Sick Day(s)

Right now, it's nearly 1pm on a Sunday afternoon and I've been home all day so far. In fact, I didn't even go to church. Not exactly an earth-shattering confession for most people, but seeing as how I'm a pastor my absence tends to require a little more explanation.

And the explanation: I've got the flu. And I've had it for about a week. For about half the week it's kept me lying in bed resting and sleeping; and for the other half fooling me that perhaps I'm getting better. I thought this yesterday until after supper when such lovely symptoms like a sinus headache, chills, and aches over most of my body returned after more than a day's absence. My wife promptly called one of our deacons to let him know. These symptoms were still there when I woke up this morning and, so, my wife promptly called that same deacon to confirm the fact that I would not be in church this morning. This lucky deacon was then e-mailed a sermon I preached in our previous church so he could read it dutifully to the congregation.

One of the stranger aspects of this is that we live across the street from the church. This means I could peer out the window and see cars filling the parking lot. Could. I didn't. Though I did sneak a peek as people were leaving after the service, wondering to myself how things went and wishing I could have been a fly on the wall.

As a pastor, unless your weekly schedule is brimming over with appointments and meetings (mine is not!), the only day when people will notice you taking a sick day is Sunday. Some of the more cynical and ignorant might well think incredulously, "The only day of the week he works, and he's sick?" Thankfully, I don't believe anyone in our church is that cynical or ignorant.

It was also extra-odd because by mid-morning (say 10am) I began to feel a little better and by 11am, which is when our service begins, I felt noticeably better. Like any reasonable person, I began to feel like I could have made it to the service. Nevermind that since I was sick most of the week, including Saturday night, that I had not been able to complete my planned sermon. But as my wife reminded me, I had taken some medication, which would relieve the symptoms, and I still had a mild fever, and I shouldn't take the chance and pass on the flu to someone else.

I should say that it is not only a sick day for me. Our little girl is still fighting a cold, one she's had for three weeks. Like me, her symptoms have come and gone and come again. If she had been feeling this morning as good as she did a couple of days ago, she and my wife likely would have gone to church. As it is, my wife didn't want to leave home with a sick little girl with a runny nose and persistent cough and who also was truly fed up with being sick. At one point, she opined, "I hate my nose!"

Anyway, this flu is one reason I haven't been back here posting in awhile. I'm beginning to feel better at the moment, but I've learned already not to take that feeling at face value. So while I'd like to say I'll be posting more soon, that depends on how many sick days are actually left!

Location, Location, Location!

Our church is sort hard to find for some. If you don't know the area well, you might just get lost while on your way. And it's also on a street that's out of the way, not a main thoroughfare. We don't get a lot of drive-by traffic. In order to direct people, we do have a small street sign marked with an arrow pointing, with relative accuracy, toward our church. However, our sign is in desperate need of replacement, something I hope will happen this spring. The significance of signage is perhaps worthy of its own post. That's not my main point today. Rather, I'm thinking of that perennial catch-phrase used to express the value of land and real estate: location, location, location.

Once when talking about our church with another pastor, he commented that our church is actually in a terrible location. It should instead be at the bottom of the road that leads into our community where people would immediately see it rather than in a spot that requires a handful of left turns. As it is, our church lacks a certain obvious visibility. It's not about blinking and missing it. It's more about being situated where even if you keep your eyes peeled you're just not likely to drive by casually on the road where our church is.

Some churches, in order to improve their ministry, will take steps to improve their location. I know of one church which is currently engaged in such a re-location project. But of course not all churches have either the calling or the ability to take such measures. For some churches, ours included, our location, whatever it may be, is something with which we simply have to contend.

And this is true of life as a whole. Location defines us. We are where we are. And oftentimes we can't simply pack and move someplace else. The specificity of our location is the result of years of decisions, unforeseen circumstances, the unseen hand of God and, hopefully, all our honest if flawed attempts to listen to and follow God.

Take me, for instance. What is my location? I am geographically located in a small LSD (local service district) where I currently serve as the full-time pastor of a small, rural Baptist church. The area in which I live is not even large enough to be considered a village or town. We have no local municipality. I hadn't even heard of this place before being called as pastor! And of course my being located here has to do with not only with physical location, but a whole plethora of factors.

One of these factors in my locatedness is that I am also married. That I am not a single male also locates me in a specific place. That I am married played a role in my accepting the call as pastor both here and in my previous church. That I am married plays in a huge role in any future locatedness--my wife and I have to be in agreement about any major decisions regarding moving or a change of ministry. Yet another factor is that I am also a father. We have a young daughter who is roughly three and a half years old. This also plays a powerful determining role. Being a parent both is part of my locatedness and determines my locatedness. So family plays a huge role in my present location.

My own personal background--emotional, intellectual, relational, spiritual, etc.--also plays a huge role in my locatedness. Who I am has been shaped by a variety of influences. I am, yes, who God has made me (and continues to make me!), but I am also a product of my parents, family members, childhood experiences, schooling, encounters with people odd and normal, and in fact all of life. I can’t always articulate it precisely, but I can often sense layers of experience playing a role in present day decisions. Simply put, it's like when someone says to you, "You're just like your father!" And that's only one example.

Try as we may, we cannot entirely escape the various layers of locatedness that accumulate over time like sediment to make us what we are. Some aspects of our locatedness may be nothing more than fossils, but when excavated and revealed afresh by a present crisis or major life change or even the stress of everyday life they come to life again. Who hasn't been surprised by how we can find ourselves in a situation where we begin to think, speak, and act as if we were still that nervous middle school kid?

Much of life seems to be about dealing and negotiating with our locatedness. As I said, we are where we are. And if we can't move to another, more pleasant location, then we have to live with our current surroundings.

What I am getting at with all of this? Why have I recklessly abandoned proper grammar to make up a word like ‘locatedness’? Well, when you think of that phrase, ‘location, location, location,’ the obvious implication is that the where of where you are located makes all the difference. Whether your home is located in an upscale suburban neighbourhood or in a poor rural community will determine the price of your home. It indicates value. If you want to be somewhere worth being, then move to a better location.

Sometimes we want to change the particulars of our present location in life. Perhaps our job is unsatisfying. What about that unexplored career path? Do we wish we had made different decisions along the way? Or maybe being a parent is more stressful than we had anticipated. It could be that the kids we had weren’t part of our original plan. We thought we knew our husband or wife better when we married them. Possibly we were hoping for more material prosperity or at least more creature comforts. All in all, life is hardly perfect. Our location is not ideal. And we sometimes entertain thoughts of what re-location might be like.

But, to point out the obvious, we are where we are. Whatever our present location, that’s what we have to contend with. We can’t just quit our jobs, dump the wife, and lose the kids; though many have used such tactics to change their location. Rarely is it this simple, however. And rarely is this a good idea (Well, quitting a job may sometimes be justified). Often such a move is a poor attempt at escapism, or of loosing ourselves from unpleasant constraints in life. As they say, the grass is always greener . . .

But the fact of the matter is all locations have value at least insofar as all locations have redeemable value. That is to say, the God of the Bible is a God who is at work not only on a grand cosmic scale that encompasses galaxies and solar systems, but one who is also at work on our street, down our lane, and in our neighbourhoods and homes. Wherever we find ourselves, there is nowhere we can be where God cannot work to redeem. This means if our marriage is in trouble, God can work redemption there; if our kids are out of control, God can work redemption there; and if we don’t like our job or are struggling with what our job ought to be, God can work redemption there. So in the same moment as I find myself daydreaming or even seriously contemplating re-location, God wants me to know that he can carry out some renovations right where we are, that he can produce something of value even at our current location.

We know this because God himself acquired locatedness in the incarnation, in that most miraculous of moments when eternity entered time, when infinity became bound by limited dimensions. We know that God places eternal value on our present location because he had for a time his own location in space and time. When the Son of God became flesh and blood, the particulars of our lives, the various levels of our locatedness, took on inestimable value. This is often what is called "the scandal of particularity," the idea, offensive to many, that the truth of God revealed in Jesus is true because of its very particularity, specificity, and locatedness. Most would rather see the truth of God as revealed in Jesus as a specific instance of a more general truth that can also be seen elsewhere--this is not the only way God has revealed his truth, but one of many--than consider the possibility that only in Jesus, this particular instance of divine revelation, is the truth of God made known fully and completely. Yet this is what we as Christians believe.

And the particularity of the incarnation means that God takes seriously the here and now of where we are. Whatever our location, God cares. So whereas sometimes we'd prefer a God who would graciously remove us from specific circumstances and lift us up beyond the often messy details of our lives, instead we have a God who--according to the incarnation--"moved into the neighborhood." We have a God who instead enters into our circumstances and is present to us in the midst of them. That God is like this means that while sometimes a move to a new location is a wise decision, often God wants to save us right where we are.

So our church is not located in an ideal spot. Does that mean for God to use us to reach the surrounding community we have to move to another location in the community, that unless we do we are consigned to irrelevancy? Or is it more true to say that no church is located in an ideal spot, that our placement can never be perfect, but that despite this, God can still work miracles, wonders, and redemption in our midst anyway? While it may be true that if our church were located in a more visible spot that we might get more drive-by traffic, more frequent visitors, and have a stronger presence, I also think that we rely too much on the world's way of thinking if we reduce the potential of our church's impact to those factors. Relying too much on the world's way of thinking also makes light of God's power. Certainly he is not limited by what we define as limitations! And certainly God is not limited by location, whether that of our church or our own. To my thinking, then, if God is into real estate, then every location has value, value that comes from and is produced by him, not by any street address or spot on a map. It's all about location, all right, but it is God and not us who ultimately determines the redeemable value of any location.

A Week in Ministry . . .

I can hardly believe it, but by 1pm today my sermon was actually finished. It was nearly 1pm precisely when I completed a practice run in the sanctuary sans congregation (I almost always try to practice preaching my sermon before Sunday). This is very unusual, because normally I'm working on my sermons until sometime late on Saturday afternoon or even late Saturday evening. What makes this especially odd is that I told my wife that I was pretty sure that I would be done at that time. And then I finish, look down at my watch, and voila, I am done! More than unusual, it's also special, because that means I have a Saturday to use at my and my family's disposal (that is, barring any sort of unanticipated congregational emergency or unexpected natural disaster). I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow, especially now that it's a day off.

And overall this has been an encouraging week in ministry. We had a great business meeting on Monday evening where I discovered that one of my deacons had been having very similar thoughts on our worship service that I had been having. Looks like there will be some challenging and exciting changes up ahead. People at the meeting were wonderfully receptive, largely because of the recognition that any church needs to grow and change if it is going to be relevant to an increasingly un-churched yet still needy community.

On Tuesday evening we had our Valentine's Day supper. We planned for a maximum of 50 and had around 40+ attend, including some folks from the community who don't go to our church or haven't in years. The food was terrific, and the fellowship, I think, was even better. So often at these suppers people eat and run, but people that night stayed and chatted. We started at 6:30 and there were still plenty of peopl around more than an hour later. I can only pray that the Lord will use that occasion to encourage some to consider coming on Sunday morning.

And on Wednesday I wrote a song. That was a complete gift from God. I hadn't done this in some time and on this particular day hadn't planned on it either. I just started noodling around. It began with a few words and a chorus, and a few hours later I ended up with a song that I will sing in church on Sunday. It sort of fits the theme of the message. I'm going to try and teach it to the congregation--which is to say, I will invite them to sing along. It is a worship song, and such music usually sounds better with more than one voice.

Tonight is youth group. Unfortunately, this is one of the ministries that is really struggling in our church. No thanks to me, it suffers from a lack of attention and time. But I do find that with everything else on my plate, it is very difficult to plan a great deal. I really want our kids to grow in their faith, but it's hard, too, when half the group are siblings. I can't imagine that that is easy for them. We need more kids involved, and we need one or two people who can really take a youth ministry on. I was told by a pastor friend when we started youth group a year and a half ago: "You can't do it." By this he meant, you can't do it. You need someone else to do it, to be passionate about it, to have the time and energy to put into it. I'm beginning to see his point.

That's church life, I suppose. Areas of strength are matched by areas of weakness (or areas in need of development). But I am grateful that I am beginning to see encouraging signs. And I am grateful that there are others who see the need for the same changes. And I am grateful, right now, that I have tomorrow off before another week of ministry begins.

Weather or Not . . .

Already it's started. If I look outside, I can see the snow coming down. At this point I've lost track of how many snowstorms we've had since December (or earlier?), but it's been several years since we've had so much snow. At first, it was kinda cool. It reminded me of my own childhood. So when we got wolloped around New Year's, it was actually sort of exciting, especially for my little girl.

But then it never stopped.

And what I find the most inconvenient and annoying about it all is that lots of stuff ends up getting cancelled or postponed. Sunday school gets cancelled (actually, considering we were up all night with our daughter, that worked for me -- see previous post), business meetings and church suppers get postponed, and you have to dig yourself out of an avalanche before you can get the car out of the driveway and send your wife and child to their doctor's appointment, because you forgot that your regular plowman is away. That was fun.

So you just can't depend on any plans you've made. That's the biggest problem. Every time you schedule an event or have an appointment, you have to consider a possible snow date. Just in case. The question is always weather or not we'll be able to go forward with whatever is on the calendar.

A couple of days ago at our church business meeting I happened to mention that we were supposed to get lots of snow today (and freezing rain, incidentally). The person to whom I said this gave me a rather cold stare since I was the bearer of obviously bad news--and then she told that I should be praying that God would keep us from getting a storm! Well, I didn't. And now it's snowing. But as I said then, God, in his infinitely wise sovereignty, might have his reasons for sending us even more snow. And besides, I rarely pray about weather unless I'm praying for travelling safety for someone.

So while at the beginning of all this snow, I was gleeful and glad, because I like it when the seasons of the year are actually like the seasons of the year, I'm pretty sure we've had more than our share of winter. I'm now looking forward to the thaw. I'm looking forward to being able to put away the shovel. And I'm looking forward not to have to cancel or postpone things because of the snow. I'm looking forward to spring--to the emergence of new life, longer days, and warmer weather. Weather or not it'll come soon, I guess I just have to wait and see.

The adventure of a night-time . . .

It's been an unusual couple of days.

It all started when I found out that I would have a funeral to do today--Sunday--and that we were also supposed to get a storm on this very day. And we did get some snow, but not nearly as much as they were forecasting. Good for us, since we had some driving to do.

For some reason, I ended up having real trouble working on the message for this funeral. Many of the family are not believers, though the deceased, a wonderful lady from our church, was. That makes knowing what to say and how to say it a little tricky and sensitive. This is especially so since this family have faced a number of similar losses over the last couple of years. Thankfully, the message did come together. I finished around 1am this morning. It wasn't my best sermon, that's for sure, but I was mostly pleased.

The next unusual occurrence happened after I finished this sermon. Like I said, I finished preparing the sermon late last night/early this morning and when I finally settled in our bed it was somewhere in the vicinity of 1:30am. And I had no sooner settled down (for a long winter's nap?) when our three-year old daughter woke up with what sounded like the croup. Poor girl, she sounded absolutely miserable. Exposing her to lots of steam by taking her into the bathroom with the shower water on hot and full didn't seem to break it. Neither did covering her up except for her face and taking her out in the cold. That's when the tele-care nurse suggested we take her to out-patients or emergency just to be safe. So we did. At 2:30am.

What's kind of funny about the story at this point is that once she was in our car, she began to become much more alert and awake, and she began talking up a storm, joking, singing, and generally acting very happy, even with the hoarse cough and raspy voice. Up until we left, she was beside herself with misery and just wanted to be left alone to sleep.

Emergency proved fruitless. After an hour and a half of waiting with no visible end in sight, we decided to take her back home. This was around 4:30am, and our decision was in part prompted by another young woman who let us know that she had been waiting since 9pm! Yikes! At that rate, we would have been there until sometime late morning. So we left for home and arrived, after a sleepy drive during which my wife diligently made sure I stayed awake, at around 5:30am. And then we crashed, pretty sure that if the storm didn't result in a cancelled Sunday school that we would not be going. But there was snow--and so we didn't have to make that choice.

The strangeness of the day didn't fully end there. I left my wife and little girl home while I trudged tiredly off to church to preach, and when I got there found out that my pianist would not be coming either because of the roads. Understandably so, since they were very messy. Our hymns, therefore, were improvised and sung a cappella. It more or less worked, but with the frame of mind I was in, it left an odd tint on the service. My mind was not entirely present to the proceedings.

And as a result of the snow, a church dinner was also postponed.

I did the funeral. My wife sang at the funeral. Ultimately, all went fine. Except for such glitches as forgetting the hard copy of some hymn lyrics, which my wife had to then sing by memory, and my knocking the TV power cord from the socket during the deceased's video tribute while slipping a note to the organist (which sounds rather clandestine, doesn't it?). Oddly, that caused little disturbance. One of the deceased's daughters more than graciously accepted my quick but sincere apology.

All in all, it just felt like an odd couple of days. A little left of normal. And after all was said and done, we just felt--unsurprisingly--very tired. We came home and basically did not do much of anything. I plan on doing much the same tomorrow. Well, not completely.

Through it all, I hope and pray that God was still at work, even though my ministry was performed through layers of exhaustion. Oddly enough, despite my lack of complete satisfaction with my own "performance," people who attended the funeral seemed genuinely appreciative of our ministry. That certainly says something about how God can use despite ourselves, especially after the adventure of a night-time when you're awake into the early hours with your sick little girl.