I was so eager to hear Michael Frost speak. He's an Australian speaker in the missional movement who had a breakout session at a recent conference in KC, and he was scheduled to talk about a missional lifestyle in our neighborhoods. This has been a nebulous goal for us - we're smack dab in the suburbs with a desire to have a positive impact, but have been struggling to know what that might look like.
It's easy to see in the inner city and the urban core how to have impact. The needs are obvious - there's economic poverty, physical homelessness, substance abuse, and broken lives. Even in rural settings, the needs are visible, even if you have to dig a little bit. But in the 'burbs, people have hardly any visible needs. Plus we have our automatic garage doors, air-conditioning, and 6-foot fences, all which minimize natural opportunities to get to know our neighbors. So, Frost's session promised to be enlightening.
The first words out of his mouth were something like, "You Americans. I don't know how to be missional in the suburbs. Now, let's talk about the neighborhood...," as he proceeded to talk about locales where people naturally do life together, go to the same market, eat and drink at the same pub, and don't move away often. In other words, all the things we don't do in the 'burbs. His talk was rich and wonderful, but even he has no clue how to be missional in the 'burbs. But the 'burbs are where we are. We have the missio burb.
The session that followed Frost's was specifically about the 'burbs, and also extremely helpful, led by a couple living in the 'burbs north of Dallas. They introduced some creative, helpful ideas. I also picked up some good nuggets from the plenary sessions that helped me get a better grasp of living life on mission in the 'burbs.
In the 'burbs, we see very little economic poverty. But what we do see is relational poverty. There are many in the 'burbs who do not enough deep, authentic relationships. We are more isolated, we spend more time alone, we immerse ourselves in electronics and social media, and we are hidden behind our 6-foot fences wallowing in relational poverty. We have friends, but we're not rich in authentic friendships.
In the 'burbs, we see very little physical homelessness. But what we do is social homelessness. People in the 'burbs have less sense of "neighborhood," of community, of a sense of "home." We often live hundreds of miles away from family and where we grew up. We have to travel for the holidays. We are like those without a home ... we have a nice shelter over our heads instead of cardboard, but we still feel displaced.
I think there's a powerful effect in using the words poverty and homelessness. They paint wordpictures to describe what many in the 'burbs feel. City dwellers who mock the 'burbs often brag about the sense of community they enjoy. These two words also provoke compassion that we automatically have for their physical counterparts. Our hearts hurt for the poor and homeless, but we have a tougher time feeling that for our neighbors in the 'burbs. And yet there are plenty of "poor" and "homeless" living on our own blocks!
We actually can add value to the 'burbs. Just because our neighbors don't have many visible needs, there are plenty of ways that we can offer relational wealth and a social neighborhood.
Think about your rhythms of life as family. Then think about ways to include your neighbors in some of those rhythms. Add value to your neighborhood. Fight against poverty and homelessness.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The Evolution of "Gravity"
SPOILER ALERT: What follows is an interpretation and worldview critique of the recently released movie Gravity by Alfonso Cuarón starring Sandra Bullock. I will give away the ending, so save the link to this article for later if you want to see the movie first.
All geeks love space movies, so I've been eager to see Gravity. Based on the reviews by pros and amateurs, I anticipated a great movie, but I did not expect to wake up early the next morning figuring out the social commentary it made. I will spend exactly one sentence on what everyone else is writing great reviews about: the visual effects are stunning, the story tension makes you use body language in your seat trying to help out the characters, and the acting is strong. That's about as wordy as I can get as a movie critic. "Good movie; go see."
What started my attempt to unravel the subtext of the movie was the last scene. Bullock's character (Dr. Ryan Stone) flops out of the water onto the beach, struggles a bit (because she's been in zero gravity for many days), then makes it to her feet, and stumbles away. Cuarón focused in on that first step with such emphasis, it was clear he was trying to say something. It's almost certainly a microcosm scene of the "Evolution of Man" taking his first step. But I realized early the next morning, Cuarón was actually talking about the "Evolution of Woman."
The movie begins with Stone and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) in a peaceful, idealic coexistence - "Adam and Eve," tending to the "garden" (the Hubble Space Telescope) in innocence and beauty. He the strong, experienced one, flying independently with a jetpack, charming and sincere, but interpreting all events to be about himself; she the inexperienced, weak (even nauseous), but brilliant one who is dependent on the space shuttle's arm. He was there long before she arrived (the only thing missing was a rib comment). Then tragedy intrudes suddenly, with a massive onslaught of space debris from a chain reaction accident of satellites. The Fall. Eden is ripped apart into chaos, and Adam and Eve are expelled. A third astronaut (Abel? the serpent? innocence?) is killed, and death has come.
Stone is thrust into space alone, completely unable to help herself, spinning out of control. But low and behold - the Man, the rescuer, saves her. He must tether her to himself, so that she is now utterly dependent on him for life and safety (this scene includes the only face-to-face close up with the characters, suggesting the sexual politics that woman are "tethered" to men also in this way). Where he goes, she goes, like the cave man dragging his woman around by the hair.
Eventually, the tether is cut, and the man floats away, forever out of her life. She is free, independent, and needing to be self-reliant for the first time. She makes her way into the abandoned International Space Station, and immediately curls up into the fetal position asleep, with the camera angle showing her gestating in the "womb," ready for birth. Via the Russian Soyuz spacecraft, she makes her way to the Chinese space station, also abandoned.
At this point, she does not need man. Kowalski is gone, she can't get Houston the radio, the Russians are gone, the Chinese are gone. She is untethered, independent, alone, no men to rescue her. Perhaps Cuarón gave her a strong man's name (not just "Ryan," but "Ryan Stone") to show she has effectively replaced men. After a strange howling scene (primal?) where a disembodied male voice sings her a lullaby, she nearly gives up, until an aberration of Kowalski sparks a brilliant idea from her independent, brilliant mind, and she is reawakened. From fetal to strong. I wonder if her opening scene nausea was just her being weak or if it was a form of "morning sickness" for her own rebirth.
More drama and tragedy and tensions carry the story through to Stone's fiery entrance into earth's atmosphere, eventually splash landing in the ocean in a capsule. The door pops open, and the capsule quickly fills with water and sinks. Underwater, she is "birthed" from this "womb," and as frog swims by (you know, the lab animals we studied in school to learn about evolution), she must shed her skin (spacesuit) in order to survive. She breaks the surface of the water and breathes air into her lungs.
She then evolves onto the beach, unable to walk. Earlier, she said she never prayed to God; here on the beach, she utters a simple "thank you." A few attempts, and she's finally bipedal, but shaky. Alone and female on a desolate land. No man. No other humans in sight. No one to rescue her. (A snarky little part of me was hoping she'd run into Tom Hanks with a Wilson volleyball.) Roll credits.
The tethered scene, it appears, pictures the hierarchical view of men and women. Men with the power, women dragged behind with no control for a very unpleasant ride, going wherever the man decides to go. By the end of the movie, the fully evolved woman is not just equal to man, but completely without need of him. Her only companion here is the "missing link" frog. It is like Irina Dunn's statement made famous by Gloria Steinem, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." Was her "thank you" for being alive, or for no longer needing a man? (Noticeably, her daughter is mentioned in the movie a few times, but never the girl's father.)
But both views of gender are unbiblical. Perhaps Cuarón believes the Bible teaches the hierarchical view, but he clearly eschews that model (as do I). But neither view properly displays the biblical concept of "one flesh." The hierarchical view is more like "one flesh - with an appendage." The manless view is "one flesh - hers." Rather, the concept of one flesh is male and female, equal in their standing before God and importance, but with some roles that are gender-specific based on the marriage covenant. Truly equal, but complementary. It is the only way to be "one flesh."
Of course, I may be reading too much into Cuarón. Some people online think the tether represents an umbilical cord, for example. However, starting from the ending scene and working backwards, give this view a shot. Good movie; go see.
All geeks love space movies, so I've been eager to see Gravity. Based on the reviews by pros and amateurs, I anticipated a great movie, but I did not expect to wake up early the next morning figuring out the social commentary it made. I will spend exactly one sentence on what everyone else is writing great reviews about: the visual effects are stunning, the story tension makes you use body language in your seat trying to help out the characters, and the acting is strong. That's about as wordy as I can get as a movie critic. "Good movie; go see."
What started my attempt to unravel the subtext of the movie was the last scene. Bullock's character (Dr. Ryan Stone) flops out of the water onto the beach, struggles a bit (because she's been in zero gravity for many days), then makes it to her feet, and stumbles away. Cuarón focused in on that first step with such emphasis, it was clear he was trying to say something. It's almost certainly a microcosm scene of the "Evolution of Man" taking his first step. But I realized early the next morning, Cuarón was actually talking about the "Evolution of Woman."
The movie begins with Stone and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) in a peaceful, idealic coexistence - "Adam and Eve," tending to the "garden" (the Hubble Space Telescope) in innocence and beauty. He the strong, experienced one, flying independently with a jetpack, charming and sincere, but interpreting all events to be about himself; she the inexperienced, weak (even nauseous), but brilliant one who is dependent on the space shuttle's arm. He was there long before she arrived (the only thing missing was a rib comment). Then tragedy intrudes suddenly, with a massive onslaught of space debris from a chain reaction accident of satellites. The Fall. Eden is ripped apart into chaos, and Adam and Eve are expelled. A third astronaut (Abel? the serpent? innocence?) is killed, and death has come.
Stone is thrust into space alone, completely unable to help herself, spinning out of control. But low and behold - the Man, the rescuer, saves her. He must tether her to himself, so that she is now utterly dependent on him for life and safety (this scene includes the only face-to-face close up with the characters, suggesting the sexual politics that woman are "tethered" to men also in this way). Where he goes, she goes, like the cave man dragging his woman around by the hair.
Eventually, the tether is cut, and the man floats away, forever out of her life. She is free, independent, and needing to be self-reliant for the first time. She makes her way into the abandoned International Space Station, and immediately curls up into the fetal position asleep, with the camera angle showing her gestating in the "womb," ready for birth. Via the Russian Soyuz spacecraft, she makes her way to the Chinese space station, also abandoned.
At this point, she does not need man. Kowalski is gone, she can't get Houston the radio, the Russians are gone, the Chinese are gone. She is untethered, independent, alone, no men to rescue her. Perhaps Cuarón gave her a strong man's name (not just "Ryan," but "Ryan Stone") to show she has effectively replaced men. After a strange howling scene (primal?) where a disembodied male voice sings her a lullaby, she nearly gives up, until an aberration of Kowalski sparks a brilliant idea from her independent, brilliant mind, and she is reawakened. From fetal to strong. I wonder if her opening scene nausea was just her being weak or if it was a form of "morning sickness" for her own rebirth.
More drama and tragedy and tensions carry the story through to Stone's fiery entrance into earth's atmosphere, eventually splash landing in the ocean in a capsule. The door pops open, and the capsule quickly fills with water and sinks. Underwater, she is "birthed" from this "womb," and as frog swims by (you know, the lab animals we studied in school to learn about evolution), she must shed her skin (spacesuit) in order to survive. She breaks the surface of the water and breathes air into her lungs.
She then evolves onto the beach, unable to walk. Earlier, she said she never prayed to God; here on the beach, she utters a simple "thank you." A few attempts, and she's finally bipedal, but shaky. Alone and female on a desolate land. No man. No other humans in sight. No one to rescue her. (A snarky little part of me was hoping she'd run into Tom Hanks with a Wilson volleyball.) Roll credits.
The tethered scene, it appears, pictures the hierarchical view of men and women. Men with the power, women dragged behind with no control for a very unpleasant ride, going wherever the man decides to go. By the end of the movie, the fully evolved woman is not just equal to man, but completely without need of him. Her only companion here is the "missing link" frog. It is like Irina Dunn's statement made famous by Gloria Steinem, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." Was her "thank you" for being alive, or for no longer needing a man? (Noticeably, her daughter is mentioned in the movie a few times, but never the girl's father.)
But both views of gender are unbiblical. Perhaps Cuarón believes the Bible teaches the hierarchical view, but he clearly eschews that model (as do I). But neither view properly displays the biblical concept of "one flesh." The hierarchical view is more like "one flesh - with an appendage." The manless view is "one flesh - hers." Rather, the concept of one flesh is male and female, equal in their standing before God and importance, but with some roles that are gender-specific based on the marriage covenant. Truly equal, but complementary. It is the only way to be "one flesh."
Of course, I may be reading too much into Cuarón. Some people online think the tether represents an umbilical cord, for example. However, starting from the ending scene and working backwards, give this view a shot. Good movie; go see.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
"Doing" Justice
We are making the grave mistake of oversimplifying when we say that the Old Testament is about a bunch of rules (often with the equally oversimplifying comment that the New Testament introduces grace). Reading carefully, we see plenty of instances where empty, faithless, ritualistic fidelity to the Rules is strongly critiqued. One such instance is Micah 6:8. After lambasting the people for empty, but "faithful" (i.e., going through the motions accurately) ritual, the prophet says:
He has told you, O man, what is good,
and what the Lord really wants from you:
He wants you to promote justice, to be faithful,
and to live obediently before your God.
Let's focus on the word "justice," even though all parts of this verse are rich. What does it mean to promote (or "do") justice?
We often think of "justice" in terms of the law of the land. Someone commits a crime, so what is justice? Prison. A homeowner has been bilked by the utility company, so what is justice? Restitution and a fine for the company. A youth vandalizes a public building, and what is justice? Repair the damage and community service. We think of "justice" in terms of law and order or having the rulebreakers pay up. In a passage that faults empty rulekeeping, certainly "justice" can't mean only this.
There is also a common view of "justice" that basically means that it's unfair that anyone has less. "Justice" in this case is the cause of the poor and oppressed. The bad guys are the "system" and there is no justice as long as there's poverty or underresourcing. This, too, is partly correct to the context. Where there is oppression, there is no justice.
However, it would be insufficient to say that "justice" is just one of these. And it's not even accurate to say that "justice" is the both of these together.
The word "justice" in this passage means "to make right." It is related to the word "righteousness." It is not a legal term and it is not a social term. It is not restricted to punishment or poverty. The word means to set wrong things right. This of course can include law and order as well as fighting forms of oppression. On the other hand, just punishing lawbreakers or extracting people out of poverty does not constitute "doing justice." It includes any situation where things aren't "right."
Micah tells the people that empty religion is displeasing to the Lord. If you perform all the rituals but are not "making things right" in your society, you are not offering the Lord anything He really wants.
What does it mean to "make things right" with lawbreakers and rulebreakers? Only punishment? What does it mean to "make things right" with the poor, when Jesus says we will always have the poor with us? What does it mean to "make things right" when we see any form of oppression? What does it mean to "make things right" when someone needs eternal hope but doesn't know where to find it?
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
I'm not asking you to leave your comfort zone
"Leaving your comfort zone" is a social virtue. Regardless of context (at home, at work, in your community of faith, in a social or hobby club), kudos abound for those who leave their comfort zone. Leaders often ask their groups to step out of their comfort zones in order to try something new and, perhaps, enjoy some kind of new benefit. When we do, then we high five each other and give attaboys. And then we return to our comfort zones.
A "comfort zone" is commonly described as that sphere that surrounds you - within that sphere is comfort, and outside that sphere is some level of discomfort, whether slight or severe or something in between. We, being creatures who gravitate toward comfort, spend a lot of time inside that sphere or "zone," and the common wisdom is that it's a good thing to leave that comfort zone on occasion. And then return.
I have been bugged by the concept of "comfort zone" on the simple basis that comfort should not be our primary ethic. Comfort should not be that controlling value by which most decisions are made. With this mindset, leaving our comfort zone can become something "heroic" in our own eyes because we dared to challenge this primary ethic. I tried sushi - how daring and brave!
So, I began to talk in terms of "expanding your comfort zone" instead of leaving it (and then returning). Wouldn't it be better if we just expanded that sphere so that we were more comfortable with more things (without compromising morals)? Going to a foreign country to help in an orphanage then is not the brave "leaving your comfort zone" but the humble "expanding your comfort zone." Rather than enduring uncomfortable things more often, we are more comfortable with more things. We actually grow - increasing the number of things we're comfortable doing and encountering is a kind of growth.
But that still didn't answer the issue in a satisfactory way for me.
Lately, I've been toying with the idea that it's not really a "comfort zone" at all. It's a "control zone." It's the sphere inside which I feel like I have enough control, and outside which I feel like I don't have enough control. The sense of "comfort," then, is a byproduct of how much control I feel. If this is the right view, then my primary ethic is not my arbitrary level of comfort, but a question of who's in charge.
If God is truly God, He is then truly sovereign, perfectly loving, and completely purposeful. Everything is within His "control zone." And if I am truly His child, then the sphere of my control is entirely subsumed by His. Now, leaving my control zone is to enter His. It is not this brave, temporary venture beyond my level of comfort, but a matter of trust. If I do not trust God to know what He's doing, I will not leave my control zone. If I do trust that His sovereign involvement is actual and not just theoretical, I can leave my control zone and enter into His.
As we talk about living more missional lives, I'm not asking you to leave your comfort zone. I'm asking you to leave your control zone. And to enter His.
A "comfort zone" is commonly described as that sphere that surrounds you - within that sphere is comfort, and outside that sphere is some level of discomfort, whether slight or severe or something in between. We, being creatures who gravitate toward comfort, spend a lot of time inside that sphere or "zone," and the common wisdom is that it's a good thing to leave that comfort zone on occasion. And then return.
I have been bugged by the concept of "comfort zone" on the simple basis that comfort should not be our primary ethic. Comfort should not be that controlling value by which most decisions are made. With this mindset, leaving our comfort zone can become something "heroic" in our own eyes because we dared to challenge this primary ethic. I tried sushi - how daring and brave!
So, I began to talk in terms of "expanding your comfort zone" instead of leaving it (and then returning). Wouldn't it be better if we just expanded that sphere so that we were more comfortable with more things (without compromising morals)? Going to a foreign country to help in an orphanage then is not the brave "leaving your comfort zone" but the humble "expanding your comfort zone." Rather than enduring uncomfortable things more often, we are more comfortable with more things. We actually grow - increasing the number of things we're comfortable doing and encountering is a kind of growth.
But that still didn't answer the issue in a satisfactory way for me.
Lately, I've been toying with the idea that it's not really a "comfort zone" at all. It's a "control zone." It's the sphere inside which I feel like I have enough control, and outside which I feel like I don't have enough control. The sense of "comfort," then, is a byproduct of how much control I feel. If this is the right view, then my primary ethic is not my arbitrary level of comfort, but a question of who's in charge.
If God is truly God, He is then truly sovereign, perfectly loving, and completely purposeful. Everything is within His "control zone." And if I am truly His child, then the sphere of my control is entirely subsumed by His. Now, leaving my control zone is to enter His. It is not this brave, temporary venture beyond my level of comfort, but a matter of trust. If I do not trust God to know what He's doing, I will not leave my control zone. If I do trust that His sovereign involvement is actual and not just theoretical, I can leave my control zone and enter into His.
As we talk about living more missional lives, I'm not asking you to leave your comfort zone. I'm asking you to leave your control zone. And to enter His.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
I've Seen Scared Men
I've seen a man scared to die. I've looked in his eyes as they darted from my eyes to the ground to the ceiling, and then to some faraway, unreachable thought. I've heard the tremor in his voice as he used manly words to describe weakness and fear. He doesn't believe the rationalizations he speaks as he grasps for phantom answers. The clock didn't move any faster or slower for him - it marched steadily toward the moment that death may actually arrive.
I've seen a man scared to live. He slumped on the floor, a living pile of inertia. He wept, he swore, he hated me and was so glad I was there, he cursed those closest to him. He did everything but move. Or hope. He weighed the price it would cost to continue breathing as he would silver coins at the market, and wasn't convinced of the bargain. He would not be moved until he chose to, and I wasn't sure he would.
I've seen a man scared to fail. Frozen by unending "what ifs?", he dared not choose A or B. A could be ruinous, but B could be disastrous. C was certain chaos and so was never even discussed. People might be harmed, he might be fired, the company might make a mint - or spend one. He consumed more time trying to find who could make the decision for him than finding the solution. Anything to escape what he feared. At least the status quo was undisastrous.
I've seen a man scared to succeed. The accolades first brought pride, then satisfaction, and then fear. A little success is good, but now they might expect more. "If I do more, what if I succeed more? Can I handle it?" All he wanted to do is go places, and now it looks like he's going places, but he's not sure he still likes the destination. That place gets lot of attention (scrutiny); that place has a lot of responsibility (blame); that place elevates (a higher perch to fall from).
I know a Man scared of nothing. He was not scared to die, which then gave me life. He was not scared to live, and so He bore my sorrows and knew my temptations. He was not scared to fail, because He knew that He was on an infallible mission. He was not scared to succeed, even though everyone around Him thought it was a failure. I have looked in the eyes of those who fear, and I have seen life through fearful eyes. I can go forward not because I have enough courage, but because I know the Man scared of nothing.
I've seen a man scared to live. He slumped on the floor, a living pile of inertia. He wept, he swore, he hated me and was so glad I was there, he cursed those closest to him. He did everything but move. Or hope. He weighed the price it would cost to continue breathing as he would silver coins at the market, and wasn't convinced of the bargain. He would not be moved until he chose to, and I wasn't sure he would.
I've seen a man scared to fail. Frozen by unending "what ifs?", he dared not choose A or B. A could be ruinous, but B could be disastrous. C was certain chaos and so was never even discussed. People might be harmed, he might be fired, the company might make a mint - or spend one. He consumed more time trying to find who could make the decision for him than finding the solution. Anything to escape what he feared. At least the status quo was undisastrous.
I've seen a man scared to succeed. The accolades first brought pride, then satisfaction, and then fear. A little success is good, but now they might expect more. "If I do more, what if I succeed more? Can I handle it?" All he wanted to do is go places, and now it looks like he's going places, but he's not sure he still likes the destination. That place gets lot of attention (scrutiny); that place has a lot of responsibility (blame); that place elevates (a higher perch to fall from).
I know a Man scared of nothing. He was not scared to die, which then gave me life. He was not scared to live, and so He bore my sorrows and knew my temptations. He was not scared to fail, because He knew that He was on an infallible mission. He was not scared to succeed, even though everyone around Him thought it was a failure. I have looked in the eyes of those who fear, and I have seen life through fearful eyes. I can go forward not because I have enough courage, but because I know the Man scared of nothing.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Evangelism Introverted
I'm an introvert. Actually, I'm extremely introverted according to the Myers-Briggs personality assessment. Don't let the number of words I say fool you - I'm a turtle put up on a platform. That means that I process internally and that I recharge by being alone. I love people, but being around a lot of them gives energy to extroverts and wears out us introverts. When I was a software manager, we would work these two-day job fairs 3 or 4 times a year, interviewing dozens of people each day. By the end of each day, we introverts were exhausted and the extroverted HR folks were so revved up they wanted to go out clubbing. I just wanted to go home and say nuttin' to nobody for a week.
Extroverts don't understand introverts. They might intellectually understand what introversion means, but they don't really get us. No amount of explaining will make them see ... and besides, no introvert wants to do that much explaining!
And yet as believers, we are told we're supposed to be involved in this thing called evangelism. For extroverts, "Yahoo!!! Something else I get to talk about!" For introverts, "Please, God, no. Take it back. Tell me to come in before everyone else and set up the chairs or something, but not that."
As we've been talking over these weeks about discipleship and reaching out to others, perhaps my fellow introverts have been nodding in agreement in principle, but secretly determining that most of this stuff is for them. You know them - they're the ones talking to six people at once after the Sunday morning gathering. Apparently, sitting quietly and taking notes isn't good enough for some people. (What's wrong with them, anyway?)
One of the notes we've had in our planning documents from the very beginning is "Don't forget the introverts." That's pretty easy, since both Jimmy and I are introverted.
Rather than write a long article on this (and repeat some really good articles on the topic), I want to stick with just one point. The word evangelize is not Greek for "Talk a lot to a lot of people, and especially those you don't know." It is Greek for "To bring Good News." There's nothing in this definition that requires extroversion. The only thing that requires extroversion is how the church has typically taught evangelism (taught by extroverts who don't get how introverts can be truly introverted).
So, my fellow introverts, have you ever given good news to anyone about anything? News about sports, politics, technology, or even the right answer on an exam (truth is a form of good news)? Ever? Did you do this in writing? One-on-one? In response to someone else who started the conversation? (Did you die in the process?) Sharing the Good News of Christ doesn't have to be any different than other ways you've already introvertedly shared good news about other things.
Evangelize as an introvert if you're an introvert. Trying to evangelize as someone you're not is way too hard. Trust me - I do that every week.
By the way, introverts don't understand extroverts, either. So ... just stop trying to explain it to me. Seriously - just chill.
Extroverts don't understand introverts. They might intellectually understand what introversion means, but they don't really get us. No amount of explaining will make them see ... and besides, no introvert wants to do that much explaining!
And yet as believers, we are told we're supposed to be involved in this thing called evangelism. For extroverts, "Yahoo!!! Something else I get to talk about!" For introverts, "Please, God, no. Take it back. Tell me to come in before everyone else and set up the chairs or something, but not that."
As we've been talking over these weeks about discipleship and reaching out to others, perhaps my fellow introverts have been nodding in agreement in principle, but secretly determining that most of this stuff is for them. You know them - they're the ones talking to six people at once after the Sunday morning gathering. Apparently, sitting quietly and taking notes isn't good enough for some people. (What's wrong with them, anyway?)
One of the notes we've had in our planning documents from the very beginning is "Don't forget the introverts." That's pretty easy, since both Jimmy and I are introverted.
Rather than write a long article on this (and repeat some really good articles on the topic), I want to stick with just one point. The word evangelize is not Greek for "Talk a lot to a lot of people, and especially those you don't know." It is Greek for "To bring Good News." There's nothing in this definition that requires extroversion. The only thing that requires extroversion is how the church has typically taught evangelism (taught by extroverts who don't get how introverts can be truly introverted).
So, my fellow introverts, have you ever given good news to anyone about anything? News about sports, politics, technology, or even the right answer on an exam (truth is a form of good news)? Ever? Did you do this in writing? One-on-one? In response to someone else who started the conversation? (Did you die in the process?) Sharing the Good News of Christ doesn't have to be any different than other ways you've already introvertedly shared good news about other things.
Evangelize as an introvert if you're an introvert. Trying to evangelize as someone you're not is way too hard. Trust me - I do that every week.
By the way, introverts don't understand extroverts, either. So ... just stop trying to explain it to me. Seriously - just chill.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Grace and Human Effort
Point: Jesus says that apart from Him, we can do nothing (John 15:1-11). The consistent Christian message is that we cannot accomplish anything significant by our own effort: salvation, sanctification, holiness, converting others, and so on. A significant portion of the narratio Dei (the narrative of God) is demonstrating that man cannot repair the damage inflicted upon himself by his sin or reach the presence of God by his own devices.
Counterpoint: Diana Nyad, 64, swims from Cuba to Florida in 53 hours. Felix Baumgartner reaches Mach 1.25 jumping from a balloon at nearly 128,000 feet and lands safely. Men and women gather their collective abilities to launch rovers to land on Mars then explore and send back mountains of data. An international team collaborates to determine how to decode DNA. Man can do amazing things with or without calling upon God for any help.
Two of the many questions these observations bring to the surface are:
Counterpoint: Diana Nyad, 64, swims from Cuba to Florida in 53 hours. Felix Baumgartner reaches Mach 1.25 jumping from a balloon at nearly 128,000 feet and lands safely. Men and women gather their collective abilities to launch rovers to land on Mars then explore and send back mountains of data. An international team collaborates to determine how to decode DNA. Man can do amazing things with or without calling upon God for any help.
Two of the many questions these observations bring to the surface are:
- How can both be true?
- Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom?
How can both be true? Do we have conflicting observations, or are they complementary? Can we or can we not do something significant on our own? There's no denying the amazing feats accomplished by believers and unbelievers alike - physical achievements, mental achievements, and even overcoming challenges to personal fortitude.
For both to be true, there must be one other observation: Making ourselves eternally significant is a feat more difficult than even the most amazing human accomplishment. Rather than downplay or deny the significance of what humans have accomplished "on their own," the magnitude of what we can do only shows just how impossibly difficult it is for us to even approach "good enough" by God's holy standard. In other words, Observation 2 (the greatness of man's accomplishments) demonstrates by comparison the height of Observation 1 (the greatness of God's accomplishment in us).
The greatest things we've done are still less than what Jesus accomplishes by meeting God's standard. And then, by grace through faith, He gives to us as a gift that kind of perfection! Not our own, but His accomplishment cloaked around us, crediting it to us as if we had accomplished it ourselves.
Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom? If even the greatest acts of the most amazing men and women cannot advance the Kingdom, then what good are all the acts of us less amazing people? If the strongest man can't push a rock into heaven, why should the rest of us push at boulders? And yet God effectively commands us to push at boulders ("make disciples," "exceed the righteousness of the Pharisees," "love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength").
In order for our Kingdom-minded actions to mean anything, there must be one other observation: God's commands are not for what we produce, but rather for what He produces in us. He commands us to push at boulders not because He wants us to move boulders without Him, but that He wants us to be the kind of people who push boulders. By putting our every effort into pushing boulders, God changes us into the kind of people He wants us to be. He wants us to be fully committed boulder-pushers, the kind of people who pour every ounce of sweat into His business, even though we can't push boulders into heaven.
He'll take care of moving the boulders. But He wants us to be fully engaged in His work, rather than a bunch of boulder-watchers who are disengaged from His work. He wants us to resemble Him by being as involved in His work as it takes to swim from Cuba to Florida.
Man's greatest feats and God's Word are not at odds - the weakness of our "greatness" demonstrates how necessary the Cross is, just like the magnitude of the universe only demonstrates how much more vast God must be.
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