Chasing God Part Three: Escape from Nazareth

Posted on August 21, 2016 by Mark

I have raised a ladder against the wall of unbelief that surrounds my spiritual and cultural Nazareth–a place Jesus can do little because of my unbelief. Here is my escape plan, one rung at a time.

  1. Reading God’s Word with fresh, honest, and hungry eyes. We all read Scripture through the filters of our culture and personal experiences. This is unavoidable. However, awareness of these filters and the guidance of the Holy Spirit can help us avoid reading into Scripture in some places and going blind to it in others. Often we need to read the lines—not between them.

    For the first 25 years of my church life I had never seen any clear evidence of people being demonized. Despite all the mentions of demonization in the New Testament, I did not think casting out demons as part of following Jesus. But after encountering one clearly demonized person, I noticed how often Jesus and disciples were busy casting out evil spirits. It happens in Acts too. How could I have been so blind? I was a religion major for two years and this was never mentioned. I had read my Bible again and again and never noticed how big a part casting out demons was in the ministry of Jesus and that he commands his disciples to do it too.

    Not only I had I missed that healing and deliverance were central to the ministry of Jesus, I had been reading much of God’s Word as descriptive rather than prescriptive. This is especially true of Acts. I had read Acts as a description of what the church once was instead of a picture of what it should be. If we cut from Acts everything that is a supernatural work of God or the result of one, almost nothing is left. If we cut the supernatural from most of our churches and outreach, little would change.

    I now read the Bible like a menu from which God has invited me to order. When I read of the visitation of God to Ephesus where “the word of the Lord was growing mightily and prevailing,” I say, “God, I want that for my city!” It is not just history—it’s what’s for dinner!

  2. The centrality of both the teachings and works of Jesus. This may seem either obvious or easy, but it is neither. Maybe it is because I grew up with a red letter Bible, but I often skipped the descriptions of what Jesus did and jumped to what he taught. I seldom noticed how the two were connected.

    Discipleship, therefore, was reduced to knowing and following what Jesus taught, but never included doing what Jesus did: healing the sick, casting our evil spirits, raising the dead and preaching the gospel to the poor. It didn’t occur to me that declaring the good news of the kingdom included demonstrating the power of the kingdom by doing the works Jesus did.

    I grew up in an evangelical tradition that emphasized The Great Commission in Matthew 28:18—20. We took this command to “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations” as applying to all believers, not just the disciples Jesus addressed. Although we had altar calls for those called to be full-time missionaries, we emphasized that all are called to be missionaries even if only to those next door. But for some reason, we did not apply the first commissioning of the disciples in Matthew 10:1—8 to all believers. We ignored the commission to “heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.”

    Following Jesus has to mean doing what Jesus did as well as teaching what he taught. Too simple? If I read what is between the red letters, I see that healing the sick and casting out evil spirits was a huge part of his ministry. This is inescapable. And even worse, (or for those escaping Nazareth: better) is that in John 14:12 Jesus says, “He who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also: and greater works than these he will do; because I go to the Father.” Here Jesus makes clear that doing his works is not just for the disciples; it is for all who believe. It is for me.

    If I look at what Jesus did as being as much a revelation of God as what he taught, I have to assume that it is almost always God’s will to heal and deliver people from demons. We are told Jesus healed every kind of disease and every kind of sickness and that he healed all who were brought to him (Matthew 4:23—24). If to see Jesus is to see the Father, then to see Jesus heal all who came to him is to see the Father’s will regarding healing.

    And yet immediately, we try to escape this obvious revelation of God’s will. We thank God for the story of Paul’s thorn in the flesh because this rare exception allows us to justify all our doubts about healing. Yet if we are honest about Paul’s story, we notice that Paul refers to his affliction as “a messenger of Satan.” Yet, we seldom mention the satanic nature of Paul’s affliction when we use these verses to comfort people who aren’t healed. We don’t tell people, “It’s okay, accept your sickness. God must want to keep you humble by allowing this messenger from Satan to torment you.”

    John declares (I John 3:8) that the Son of God came “that he might destroy the works of the devil.” In Acts 10:38 Peter describes the ministry of Jesus this way:

    You know of Jesus of Nazareth, how God anointed Him with the Holy Spirit and with power, and how he went about doing good, and healing all who were oppressed by the devil; for God was with Him.

    In light of these verses, and all the description of Christ’s ministry, it is clear that with few exceptions it is God’s will to heal people and destroy the works of Satan. It violates both sound exegesis and theology to take a few verses about Paul’s thorn in the flesh and build on them a doctrine of God using sickness to build godly character—and all the while ignore that Jesus healed everyone who came to Him. We have changed the words “Be healed,” into “Be comforted. Your affliction will provide great opportunities for spiritual growth.”

    Yes, Paul’s experience is relevant. It is relevant to those who like Paul have been caught up into the third heaven and had revelations of such “surpassing greatness” that they need a messenger from Satan to keep them humble. We should also note that Paul asked God three times for this affliction to be removed and seems to have stopped asking only after getting a direct answer from God. Paul’s persistence reveals he thought healing was usually God’s will.

    Should I make Paul’s exceptional circumstances central to my understanding of God’s will concerning healing, or should I look at the mission and ministry of Jesus? I choose Jesus.

  3. A both/and approach. Often the strategy of the enemy has been to force believers into false choices. We are sometimes tricked into thinking we have to choose between saving people’s souls or ministering to their physical needs. But Jesus did both. We should too.

    I was raised in a holiness tradition that emphasized the fruit of the Spirit more than the gifts. Some other groups emphasized the gifts of the Spirit, but were less zealous about holy living. This is false choice; we are called to have both.

    I also think the choice between the intellect and the Spirit is a false choice that has bred anti-intellectualism in some Christians. Stupid isn’t spiritual. We are called to love God with our mind and our body and to steward all God has given us—even our ability to think and study.

    We do not have to choose between seeking God’s healing touch or medical help from doctors. We can pray for the sick and open hospitals for the poor. Love will always lead us to do all we can—to be both/and rather than either/or in our ministry to people.

  4. A ravenous hunger for more of God balanced by an overwhelming gratitude for all He has given. Although I speak of chasing after God, let’s be clear: God first pursued me. God has captured my heart and awakened a longing for more of Him. I am desperate for more of Him and to minister in the power of the Holy Spirit so that the afflicted are healed and the captive set free. I hunger for the power evangelism that characterized the proclamation of the gospel in Acts.

    Like most living in Nazareth, I have too often been comfortable with a Jesus who does no miracles and doesn’t expect his followers to do any either. Can’t good thoughts and ethical living be enough? No, no, no! I must fight the temptation to become comfortable with less than God’s Word promises and commands.

    At the same time, I must trust completely in God’s grace and celebrate all God has done through Christ on the cross. I will treasure every work of God’s grace in my life and let my gratitude toward God overflow in praise and adoration. I will worship with abandon and let my praise transcend what God has done. I will praise Him for all He is doing and is going to do. I will thank Him that His kingdom has come, is coming, and will come. In short, I must live in the tension of resting in God’s grace while striving for more of his presence, purity, and power.

  5. A humble love for others. Because of the general lack of unbelief in Nazareth, there were afflicted in Nazareth who were not healed. There were probably those captive to demonic influence who stayed in their chains. Too often those who desire to see God healing the sick and delivering the demonized are accused of needing these signs because of the weakness of their faith. Of course, this accusation assumes that those who desire to see God heal aren’t really concerned about the sick—that they just want a sign to help their faith.

    I suppose there are those who seek to do the works of Jesus because it would validate them or their ministry. I haven’t met any. What I see in myself is a desire for Jesus to be exalted and people to be helped. It isn’t, and must never become, about me. The ministry of healing and casting out evil spirits did bear witness to the truth of the good news Jesus proclaimed, but we are also told Jesus healed simply because he was full of compassion for those who were “distressed and downcast like sheep without a shepherd.”

    To illustrate the importance of persistent prayer Jesus used the example of someone who has no food to feed a guest. To honor and feed his hungry guest, the host goes to his neighbor at midnight and hammers on the door until his neighbor wakes up and gives him bread. Too often we are not humble enough to admit our cupboard is bare—that we have nothing to give the blind, deaf, lame, and demonized. We can only give them inspirational messages on how God will give them grace to continue on their state of affliction. Our compassion for our guests should keep us and God awake at night until we see them healed and set free. Compassion should make this our goal: Let people coming to the Church today receive the same ministry as those who came to Jesus in the New Testament. Until this goal is realized we should be hammering on God’s door.

    I should add that humility should make me willing to get bread for my guests from any neighbor who has genuine bread: Quaker, Catholic, Baptist, Pentecostal, or even Nazarene. My tribal pride should not keep me from feeding the lost and broken at my doorstep.

  6. Persevere at taking risks that grow my faith. As I pray for the sick and seek the deliverance of the demonized, I need to always minister at the edge of faith. I need to always be that guy who says, “I do believe, help my unbelief!”

    What exactly am I risking? First, and sadly foremost, is my pride. What if I step out in faith and the person isn’t healed? I will look stupid and weak—maybe even deluded. Even riskier, what if I don’t put in my prayers the “if it is your will” escape clause, but instead command healing the way Jesus did? Yikes!

    Almost as risky is the possibility that God does heals one person, but not another. Honestly, it is safer if God heals no one. When some are healed but not others, we face all kinds of difficult pastoral questions. This is especially true when those who seem most deserving of healing don’t receive it and those on the edge or outside the Church see a miracle. Pursuing God in this area means being willing to say, “I don’t know” to a lot of hard questions. Teachers, like myself, hate saying those words.

    I add the word “persevere” because I have sometimes taken risks and stepped out in faith to pray for the healing of others. When they weren’t healed, I usually withdrew into the safety of prayers that had no real expectation of healing. I have too often thought, “No reason to get our hopes up and then be disappointed.”

    But I can’t live out my faith in that kind of sad safety. I must persevere in obeying the command to heal the sick and cast out evil spirits until I die or Jesus returns. I can’t settle for a form of godliness that lacks all power.

  7. Unoffendable obedience to Jesus and devotion of God’s presence. The Pharisees were always getting offended at Jesus. They were offended that he healed people on the Sabbath. They were offended at who he hung out with.

    We always say we want the presence of Jesus in our services, but in the first synagogue Jesus went to after coming out of the wilderness, a screaming demonized person was thrown to the ground in convulsions (Mark 1:24). Do we really want Jesus? We are told Jesus “went into their synagogues throughout all Galilee, preaching and casting out demons.” I am sure synagogue services were much more peaceful and enjoyable before Jesus got busy cleaning house.

    It will, and does, offend me that God doesn’t let us be in control of healing—that He heals some people and not others. And Jesus often followed no formula. He did weird stuff like healing people with spit or mud. All offensive stuff.

    Those in Nazareth were offended that Jesus, a hometown boy, was acting like he was the Messiah. It easy to get offended at who God uses or how he uses them, but my hunger for God must push me beyond my petty offenses.

All metaphors have limits. Although I have described these points as the rungs of the ladder out of Nazareth, these steps are really not in a particular order. In fact, all these steps have to be taken together and continually.

What’s outside Nazareth? Following Jesus with a renewed mind and strengthened faith that allows Him to do all He desires in me and with me. I also hope to find a community of believers who are following Jesus down this same road.

 

 

 

 

Posted in On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

What God Said During My Fast

Posted on August 6, 2016 by Mark

I hate fasting and do it badly. I would like to report that fasting opens my ears to hear God, but that hasn’t been my experience. Nor do the affections of my heart turn more to God. Mainly, I just get hungry, think about food a lot, and count the days until my fast is over.

But recently, while I was complaining about the spiritual emptiness of my little fast, God spoke to me. I had been thinking about how terribly hungry I was and about the butternut squash growing in the garden. I picked a Thai pepper and chewed on it until the heat became unbearable. I wondered why God’s grace didn’t take away the gnawing hunger or bring inspiring revelation.

God seemed to say, “Your hunger is the point! It is the revelation!” It was no audible voice, just this thought appearing out of nowhere. I think it was God speaking.

While fasting, my innermost being longs for food. My five senses become tuned to it. I could smell the toast clear upstairs while working. The sound of the knife scraping butter across the toast intensified my longing. I heard the crackle and crumple of paper and then the wonderful sound of cereal falling into a bowl. I heard Teckla mention she was fixing guacamole, but would have to run to the store to get avocados. I thought of the delightful weight of an avocado in the hand and the delicious creaminess of one in your mouth. All my senses, my mind, and imagination were alive to food.

Well, this shows you the kind of spiritual giant fasting makes me. But here is the point, I think. God wants me, and probably all believers, to hunger for Him this way. Our spiritual hunger should be this gnawing emptiness that cries out for more of Him. This longing for God should tune our nostrils to his fragrance, our ears to his voice, our hands to his anointing, our eyes to his beauty, and our imagination to his majesty.

Hunger breeds gratitude for the merest crumb. I found myself staring with longing at a bag of stale nacho chips on the kitchen table. They looked so good. Almost everything does. Just the presence of food stirred me. Food is good.

So is God. When you are hungry for God, the slightest breeze of the Holy Spirit is delicious and brings joy. Verses in the Bible you had read a hundred times crash into your heart like the voice of God. Every taste of God makes your heart cry out, “More!”

I asked God, “Since I have this great revelation about the importance of spiritual hunger, can I stop fasting a little early? After all I have some spiritual hunger. He just said, “More!” I can hear Teckla cooking. The microwave is humming.

Posted in On Faith | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Chasing God Part Two: Living in Nazareth

Posted on August 4, 2016 by Mark

Spiritually and intellectually I am a life-long citizen of Nazareth, but I desperately want out.

Nazareth is, of course, the place Jesus grew up. They all knew him and his family. During his ministry Jesus made a stop in his hometown and began preaching in the synagogue. The response of the people is fascinating and instructive:

“Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers?” they asked. “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? Aren’t all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?” And they took offense at him.  (NIV Matthew 13:54—57)

They took offense! Can you believe it? We are then told by Matthew, “And he did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith” (v. 59).

Like those in Nazareth, I have grown up with Jesus. I was a terrible kid to have in Sunday School because I knew how every Bible story ended. Church three times a week, week-long “revival” meetings, Vacation Bible School, and church camps meant that Jesus and I had spent a lot of time together. I remember when Jesus was just starting out on the flannel graph board in my Sunday school classes. Like those in Nazareth, I am familiar with Jesus.

And like those in Nazareth I would be utterly shocked if Jesus jumped off the flannel graph or out of hymns and actually started doing stuff. You know—healing the sick, casting out evil spirits, raising the dead. I wouldn’t know what to do. It would be upsetting. It would offend me. Familiarity really does breed contempt.

I suspect I am not alone. I think most of the Western church lives in Nazareth—a place Jesus can do few miracles because of our unbelief. In fact, much of the Church has developed a whole theology to explain the miracle-devoid experience of living in Nazareth. Some explain that compassionate healing of the sick is no longer needed because we have the Bible now. Others argue for the cessation of all the gifts of the Spirit—all the signs and wonders—thinking the only purpose of Jesus’ miracles was to validate the teachings of the apostles. Of course, much of this remodeling of Nazareth is simply a way to accommodate the rational skepticism that has been embraced by the West since the Enlightenment. Much has been done to make the modern Christian at home in Nazareth.

My Nazareth, to be honest, has not been built by those who actively teach that all the gifts of the Spirit and works of power have disappeared. Although I grew up in a denomination that believes in divine healing, I don’t remember ever seeing anyone healed. We sometimes anointed people and prayed for their healing, “God if is your will to heal Bob, please heal him. But Thy will, not ours be done.” I don’t think any of us expected anyone to actually be healed. I didn’t. Occasionally, if I prayed for someone I cared deeply about, my prayers became earnestly pathetic and begging, “Please, please, O God, heal my father of prostate cancer!” Over and over, but always with no real faith. After all, I live in Nazareth.

My secret dream, the ache in my heart from age sixteen, was simply to do what Jesus had commanded the disciples to do: “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give.” I thought, “Wow, if this is what the disciples of Jesus get to do, sign me up.” I went off to college as a Jesus freak wanting to learn the Bible and take the gospel to the streets—you know, be like Jesus and do the stuff Jesus did. My years in academia only reinforced the walls of Nazareth. I soon realized that no matter how many degrees in biblical studies or theology you get, almost no school will teach you to do what Jesus did. They will, however, teach you many theological reasons you can’t. I saw that I could finish every course to be a pastor and never be taught how to cast out a demon or heal the sick. So half-way through college, I became an English major. At least imaginative literature gave me a brief escape from Nazareth. My heart longed for adventure.

Over the years I have collected from academia and the church a lot of clever work-arounds to explain our failure to heal the sick and deliver the demonized. Psychology provides many wonderful diagnoses for what Jesus, mistakenly, thought were evil spirits. Some of these work-arounds even make it seem like not being healed is more spiritual. God is sovereign so perhaps we should accept sickness as a gift given to us so we can learn, grow, and deepen in our walk with Him. Or perhaps we have matured in our faith so far that we do not need signs and wonders to help us believe. I like this work-around because it makes not believing God for miracles really spiritual. My unbelief is really faith! All of this is the bitter and empty food served up in Nazareth.

It is interesting that those in Nazareth actually saw Jesus had miraculous powers, but still didn’t place their faith in him for miracles. I wonder if they perhaps had seen a few false teachers and false messiahs come through town. I do know that my personal Nazareth has been created in part by those who fake the miraculous and my recognition that Satan can perform false signs and wonders. Many who ardently profess to believe in a Jesus who does miracles are content to watch the deaf, blind, and paralyzed come and go from the church services unchanged. Many, but not all, of these churches failed to show me a way out town and turned out to be a suburb of Nazareth.

And of course, I have made my own contributions to Nazareth. Those in Nazareth had spent 30 years with a Jesus who didn’t do any miracles, so it was hard for them to have faith when he started. I get this. The Nazarenes (both those here and in Israel) have all my sympathy. I too grew up with a Jesus who didn’t do miracles. I have used my disappointments like bricks to build the walls of Nazareth.

Of all this I repent. I repent of helping create an atmosphere of unbelief that limits what Jesus can do in and through his Church. I repent for creating a theology and exegesis that justifies the skepticism and barrenness of the Western Church. I ask forgiveness of the oppressed and afflicted who have remained in chains and suffering because I was comfortable with the few miracles my unbelief allowed Jesus to do in Nazareth. Forgive me.

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Chasing God (Part One)

Posted on July 29, 2016 by Mark

I dislike public confession and repentance. Whenever people draw attention to their repentance, it’s like saying, “Hey, look at how humble I am!” Crazy, right? But I think my repentance of this particular arrogance and error may be instructive. And it doesn’t make me look super spiritual. And I am humble enough to risk looking pious.

For years I have spiritually been an Oregonian—independent, self-reliant, and definitely nonconformist. One expression of this has been a distrust of anyone claiming to have something I need spiritually. My attitude has been, “God has my address and can send me whatever wisdom, gifting, or growth He wants me to have.”

And of course in Christian circles we have been plagued with pastors and teachers who have been corrupted by greed or fallen into sexual sin. Who can you trust? Well, Jesus! So I have had an Oregon Jesus freak dedication to going it alone—just me and Jesus. In Oregon we don’t trust “suits.”

My 13-year sojourn in the Midwest did not cure my “rugged individualism.” In some ways it made it worst. Oddly, I found myself on staff at a church of 2,000 (a teacher in its school). The pastor, who I still love and respect, was an excellent teacher and attracted thousands of people to come learn about intercessory prayer, revival, prophecy, and worship. Hundreds moved to the area to be part of a move of God that would restore the Church to purity, power, and a passion for Jesus.

However, I saw many people coming with unrealistic expectations that being in a new place would make them a new person. Others thought, mistakenly, that being near those with a prophetic or visionary gift would elevate them to the same spiritual level. Many sought a cure for religious boredom and barrenness. A lot of people left disappointed.

On top of all that there have been my own disappointments of attending conferences and seminars and coming home unchanged—knowing a little more, but still spiritually barren and hungry. It seemed God’s blessings would fall on those to the left and right, but not on me. Yeah, that may have been my fault. Or maybe not. I still don’t know.

The result of all this has been a very individualistic spirituality and an aversion to chasing blessings. I don’t want to seek from others what can easily be given me by God in my own prayer times. It’s just me and Jesus.

If this all makes sense to you, or sounds good, you are my tribe! But I have bad news. This attitude isn’t biblical. It is wrong. I have been wrong. I repent. (Deep breath)

If we use even a little imagination, we can figure out that putting feet to our hunger for God makes sense. Imagine you were the blind guy Bartimaeus beside the road in Jericho. You hear this rabbi named Jesus has been healing people and he is coming down the road. Do you lose your dignity and start yelling for Jesus? God is sovereign, so if he wants you to see, He could heal you anytime he wants. Wouldn’t it be more spiritual to patiently bear the burden of blindness for the glory of God?

No. Of course not. We are told that when those in the crowd scolded him for shouting for Jesus, Bartimaeus yelled all the louder, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” When Jesus asked him what he wanted, Bartimaeus cried, “Rabbi, I want to see!” We need to see that it was okay for him to ask to see. Jesus said, “Go. Your faith has healed you.”

You might be thinking, “Well, this case is different because it was Jesus.” But it’s unlikely that Bartimaeus knew much about who Jesus was.  He thought Jesus was maybe a prophet or a rabbi who did wonders. But Bartimaeus did know he was bone-tired of being blind.

Or imagine the pious lectures we might deliver those who lowered the crippled man through the roof so Jesus would heal him. Weren’t they silly to place so much hope in some traveling rabbi? Wouldn’t they have been wiser and more spiritual if they had quietly trusted God to heal their friend at his own time? Well, no. He would have died a cripple.

Or imagine you were in Germany when Luther was preaching or in England when John Wesley was reaching thousands for Christ. Would you have regretted not hearing him preach? Would you regret having missed the moving of the Spirit when Wesley led hundreds of miners to Christ? Of course.

Even more inescapable is the New Testament doctrine and practice of laying on of hands. Jesus himself often, not always, laid hands on those he healed. Something about God making Word flesh has made the flesh important even in ministry. It’s almost like our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and can release the power of God’s love.

In the early church (Acts 8:17—18) the Holy Spirit was often (not always) imparted by the laying on of hands. I hate this. Why can’t this whole baptism of the Holy Spirit be just between me and God or something automatic at salvation? Or at least it could be like at Pentecost where the Holy Spirit just fell on people in a prayer meeting.

Paul wrote that he longed to visit the church in Rome so that he could impart to them some spiritual gift to make them strong (Romans 1:11). Of course, my theology would condescendingly lecture Paul that God doesn’t need Paul to go to Rome; God can give the Romans any gift He wants any time He wants. But for some reason God has decided that his glory and gifts will be carried in, and by, the bodies of His people. God continues to make his Word flesh in the Body of Christ.

In his letter to Timothy (I Timothy 4:14) Paul urges him not to neglect the gift given with a prophetic message when the elders laid hands on him. In a second letter, Paul encourages Timothy to “fan into a flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands” (II Timothy 1:6). Getting, keeping, and using what was imparted by the laying on of hands seems important.

Although my Oregon spirituality balks at all this laying on of hands stuff, I see what God is about and why we dislike this whole thing with gifts and impartation. First, we like everything to be distributed equally and universally within the church. We are offended by the idea of people getting stuff from God that others don’t get. God’s gifts offend our pride, violate our sense of fairness, and take away our control of the church. After all, don’t we have a board or bishop who should decide who gets what gifts? Many churches avoid all this trouble by doing without anything that has to be gotten through impartation. It’s hard, after all, to control the wind of God’s Spirit.

God’s uneven and crazy-quilt distribution of the gifts of the Spirit through the laying on of hands also forces some hard-choices on Christians. We can do without God’s Spirit or humble ourselves enough to go to whoever is able to give us more of God. I hate this. But it is the worst part of me that hates this—the part that is proud and independent.

What’s worse is sometimes God may want to impart gifts to through someone with whose theology I disagree—a Catholic, Baptist, or Pentecostal. It’s as though God refuses to give any one group of Christians everything they need. We either do without or humbly connect and receive from each other.

So I repent. I also surrender to God and my spiritual hunger. I will go anywhere for more of God. Even those in Southern Baptist hair-cuts and double-knit seventies suits can pray for me.

And yes, I will test everything against God’s Word and be alert for any and every kind of falseness or spiritual fakery. But I’ve got the rebellious and desperate heart of Bartimaeus; I can’t shut-up. I want to see the glory of God. Son of David, have mercy on me!

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Be Kingsfoil

Posted on July 10, 2016 by Mark

In June, I spoke at a One Year Adventure Novel Summer Workshop at Mid-America Nazarene University in Olathe, Kansas. It was a privilege and great fun. I spoke to about 200 young writers between the ages of 13—19. Because most are so young, I was little befuddled by the way I concluded one of my talks.

My talk tried to trace the literary archetype of the returning king. I began with the story of Odysseus, talked about King Arthur a little, and then looked at Tolkien’s story of the return of the king in his Lord of the Rings. My argument was that Jesus fulfilled the archetype of the returning king—that the king of glory is the king of story.

I concluded with an exhortation to be kingsfoil. It is here that I found myself hesitating. Kingsfoil is the name of an herb used by Aragorn to heal the wounded. Readers first encounter this herb, also called athelas, in The Fellowship of the Ring after Frodo had been stabbed by one of the Black Riders. Here Strider, not yet revealed to be the returning king, crushes the kingsfoil, throws it in boiling water, then bathes Frodo’s wound. Tolkien tells us that even those who weren’t hurt were refreshed and “felt their minds calmed and cleared.”

We encounter the herb again in the houses of healing at Gondor. It is now clear that Strider, the one who served as a guide to hobbits, is the King destined to rule over Gondor. But before taking the throne, Aragorn gets busy healing the wounded. He has some difficulty getting the herb-master to give him the herb athelas. In Gondor it was called kingsfoil, but considered a weed. No one remembered why it was called kingsfoil.

Tolkien beautifully describes Aragorn’s almost sacramental use of the kingsfoil:

Then taking two leaves, he laid them on his hands and breathed on them, and then
he crushed them, and straightway a living freshness filled the room, as if the air
itself awoke and tingled, sparkling with joy.

In the hands of the king, what was thought to be weed had the power to refresh and heal. Aragorn gave life to an old saying in Gondor, “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer.”

As I stood before all the young people, it occurred to me that it would be good to ask Jesus, the true returning king, to make their lives and their writing kingsfoil—a source of healing and refreshment to a sick and darkened world. But as I prayed for God to breath on them and their writing, I paused for a moment because the king always crushed the kingsfoil to release its healing virtues.

Who was I to ask that God crush these young people? And what does it mean for God to crush their writing?  I muddled my way to the end of the prayer. Although the prayer felt right, I have been dogged by these questions for about a month. Why crushed?

Several ideas have come. First, it occurs to me that all young people are crushed. The loss of innocence, the onslaught of disillusionment, the withering poison of disappointment are all common themes in coming-of-age stories. We must all battle despair in Mordor.  Being crushed in some way is unavoidable. The question is whether we will place ourselves in the hands of the king to be crushed. Only in his hands can the unavoidable hardships and disappointments of life become the fragrance of healing.

Second, God’s command to love sacrificially is an invitation to be crushed. Many, but not all, of these young people are committed Christians. Following King Jesus certainly means embracing the brokenness, humility and servanthood that crushes our pride. The exhortation to be kingsfoil is little more than the invitation to live a life placed in the hands of the king.

Last, any writer or aspiring writer can testify to the crushing disappointment that trying to get published can bring. Although not a writer, I have admired the perseverance and toughness of writers who are bludgeoned by rejection letters. If our writings, really all our labors and dreams, are put into the hands of King Jesus, every crushing can be filled with fragrance rather than the stench of bitterness and anger. The grace and humility with which we encounter rejection can bring healing to those around us while refining our skills and artistry.

When I first read The Lord of the Rings I wanted to be Strider, a ranger wandering the woods and protecting the Shire. And then later crowned King of Gondor. Most of my adult life, I have identified more with the hobbits—I like my comforts. Now, my ambition is to be kingsfoil—a weed crushed in the hands of the King.  This is progress.

A note to those at the Summer Workshop: On the last night Mr. S. (Daniel Schwabauer) spoke with insight and grace on the importance of humility. Never I have seen a message on humility so genuinely embraced by any group—especially teenagers. As I look back on the sweetness and freshness of the atmosphere that night, I believe we experienced a little of the fragrance of kingsfoil. For a moment all us, weeds unworthy for a king’s garden, rested humbly in the King’s hands.

Posted in Oyan, Tolkien | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Poured Out

Posted on May 1, 2016 by Mark

Again this morning, I walked my Mom across the street to the church for the pre-service prayer meeting. It isn’t far, but these days she is afraid to walk it without an arm. She is wobbly. And forgetful. But once we get settled, she will offer up a prayer thanking God for His faithfulness to her and to the little church Dad once pastored.

Her faithfulness and servant’s heart strengthens me. These days I sometimes fix dinner for Mom, but her prayers still feed my spirit. Her heart of service often makes me think of Philippians 2:17 where Paul describes his ministry to the church in Philippi:

But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you. (NIV)

Mom has lived a “poured-out life.” She has poured out herself to God and to the church. As a pastor’s wife she has seen the worst and the darkest sides of the church and yet not wavered in her love of God or patience with God’s people. In her years of teaching grade-school she won the reputation as the teacher that could handle boys—even the brats. (I take some credit for her success but must share it with Larry and Stanley.) She loved the hard to love.

As a teacher, mother, and wife she served and poured herself out for others. Don’t misunderstand me; this is no maudlin Mother’s Day tribute where guys get to remember the sacrifice of their mothers for a moment and then pop back to a self-centered life. My mother, like my father, has taught me how to follow Jesus. She is this guy’s role model. I too want to live a poured-out life.

These days there is much that Mom doesn’t have the strength to do. With weak eyes and hands, she is shaking out the last drops of her love and service. Every drop is precious.

Posted in Fathers and Sons, On Faith | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Will You Not Come Down

Posted on April 29, 2016 by Mark

These are Gandalf’s words to Saruman in Tolkien’s The Two Towers. Saruman, once Saruman the White, had allowed a lust for power and greatness to corrupt him. But in this scene he stands in the window of his tower surrounded by the ruins of his kingdom. Gandalf invites him to forsake evil and arrogance—to join in the protection of many good things in Middle Earth.

Yet it is Saruman’s invitation to Gandalf that first caught my attention. With a gentle and persuasive voice Saruman invites him to forsake his rag-tag friends and join him:

Are we not both members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-earth? Are we not both members of a high and ancient order, most excellent in Middle-earth? Much we could still accomplish together, to heal the disorders of the world. Let us understand one another, and dismiss from thought these lesser folk! Let them wait on our decisions!  . . . Will you not come up?

I have felt, and in my heart heard, this invitation many times during my twenty years in academia.  I am not saying any corrupt colleague has asked me join some evil conspiracy. But I have heard the invitation to forsake my rag-tag Christian community and join those who look at Christians with amusement and condescension. Hobnobbing with those who have read the books I have read, have a passion for ideas, and have a grasp of history is fun and wrapped in the fragrance of superiority.

Let’s be honest, Christians may have hobbits’ virtues, but they can also have their vices: provincialism, suspicion of outsiders, isolationism, pettiness. I have been tempted to climb into academia’s towers of sophistication to escape them. One of my older and more astute students expressed great surprise at the discovery that I was a believer because, “You seem intelligent.” Yes, yes I am, and I belong in the Council of Wizards.

But the voice of Saruman no longer has any power over me. Over the years I have heard it too often and know the emptiness and misery behind it. Like Gandalf I have become merrier as I have aged. After Saruman words had woven a tempting tapestry of greatness, Gandalf simply laughs and, “The fantasy vanished like a puff of smoke.”

After this laughter Gandalf asks Saruman, “Will you not come down?” I certainly haven’t become Gandalf the White, but this invitation to Saruman has filled my heart. I know many who could do great good if they were humble enough to come down from towers of intellectual arrogance. Those rich in knowledge, like those rich in goods, find it hard to enter the kingdom of God as a little child or a short hobbit.

Sadly, Saruman refuses Gandalf’s offer of redemption. But it was important to invite him to come down.  It is important to show mercy to the Gollums—the down and out and ugly. But it is equally important to extend mercy to the “up and out” whose souls are misshapen by pride and deception. We must invite them to come down and join the meek who inherit middle-earth.

 

Posted in On Faith, Tolkien | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Trump, Gilgamesh, and the Prophetic

Posted on April 24, 2016 by Mark

Gilgamesh was a bully. Although the hero of the great Babylonian epic, he was badly behaved. His story opens with an account of picking fights with the young men of Uruk and bedding every young woman in town. In answer to the city’s pleas, the god Anu sends Enkidu to be a friend and to direct the manic energy of Gilgamesh toward a heroic quest. Together they trek to the mountains of Lebanon where they defeat the monster guarding the forest, then float down the Euphrates in a raft made of cedars.

It is interesting that these cedars are intended to be either a gate or door. That a gate would be the result of such an epic quest is puzzling, but makes sense in the context of ancient Mesopotamia. Most walls were built of sun-baked clay bricks, not the kind of material for a gate. And no matter how high or thick, the walls were only as good as the gates in protecting a city from its enemies. The story of Samson (Judges 16) carrying off the gates of the Philistine city in Gaza takes on greater significance when we understand the importance of gates in the age of city-states. A city without a gate was broken and defenseless.

Gilgamesh’s gift of a gate was therefore truly heroic and expresses our human desire for heroes who will provide gates and walls. This desire, I believe, explains some of the popularity of Donald Trump. He has promised to build a wall and to keep terrorists out. He has even promised to protect American workers and industries from the flow of cheap exports from other countries. He has tapped into our archetypal yearning for a hero, who even though a bully, will give our nation control over our gates.

I think Americans’ gut feeling that we need gates and walls is right. Although I think every nation has a right to control its borders and establish wise immigration policies, and that some trade-agreements have led to the plundering of American jobs and industries, these are not, I think, the areas where we are most at risk.

Greater threats to our nation come closer to home. On the right, we see a growing xenophobia and isolationism—a dividing of the world and the country into us and them. Some of this is poisoned with bigotry. On the left is a radical emphasis on cultural relativity and multiculturalism that makes it criminal to identify anything as American culture—even the values expressed in the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. Identity politics and envy of the rich on the left and bigotry and fear on the right are dissolving national unity. Who will shut the gate against these evils?

Even more important than walls and gates are the watchmen on the walls and the elders in the gate. The watchmen are the prophets that rightly identify the threats approaching our walls. The elders watch over all that enters and leaves through the gates. Sometimes we are threatened more by what leaves than by what comes.

For some time, we have been losing the shared values that unify us as a nation. When Martin Luther King declared “we are all God’s children” and insisted that we are all created equal, he appealed not just to the Bible, but to the Declaration of Independence’s assertion that we are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights. But our fear of acknowledging the theistic basis of American liberty and equality has robbed us of the foundational truths that protect human rights. We need watchmen that warn not just against external enemies and terrorist attacks, but also against the deadly enemies that dissolve the ties that unite us.

We must oppose every religious test for American citizenship, but are wise and just when we insist on a Constitutional test. Those coming through our gates should embrace the values expressed in the Declaration of Independence and Constitution. At the same time, we must diligently guard against the erosion and distortion of the Constitutional rights by those who already here.

Yes, we need a wall but not the one Trump has promised us. A wall without vigilant watchmen is worse than useless because it locks us into our narrow streets and blinds us to the approach of our enemies. We are, however, most threatened by the enemies entering our hearts—hatred, bigotry, and envy.

Heroes like Gilgamesh can give us gates, but we need prophets to tell us when to open and close them. We need discerning elders to watch over what comes and goes. We need a hero to guard our hearts. Mine is Jesus.

Posted in Culture, On Faith | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Growing Elven

Posted on March 21, 2016 by Mark

After their encounter with elves on the road, Frodo asks Sam what he thinks of elves now that he has seen them up close. He says, “They are quite different from what I expected—so old and young, and so gay and sad, as it were.” As I read this, it struck me that as I have grown older, I have grown elven.

I have certainly not had the long life of the Tolkien’s elves, but I have lived enough to see the world is filled with loss and sadness. The brokenness of the world, people, and dreams litters the heart’s landscape. And as I have grown older I have come to care more for others than myself. My dreams are for my children and grandchildren. But loving more means hurting more. There is no shortage of sadness.

Yet like an elf, I feel younger than I have for years. Perhaps because like a child I am again free of what people think. I have stepped out of the self-consciousness and self-importance that seized me in adolescence. I play.

But it is more than that. Time reveals that much we think matters, really doesn’t. Tolkien talked about how age casts a golden glow over things because we see everything as though it may be the last time. Ordinary things make me happy. Despite all the reasons for sorrow, the immediate—sun on the dew, wind in the trees, birds on the wing—is a constant source of joy.

This last quarter of teaching, I knew I had become elven because I was usually more playful and joyful than my 18 and 19-year-old students. I suspect this just made me annoying—especially at nine in the morning. I was shocked by my cheerfulness. Where was Mark W. Puddleglum?

Sometimes Teckla and I get a Hot-n-Ready pepperoni pizza from Little Caesar’s in Coos Bay. We eat it on our drive back to Myrtle Point. It makes us happy—happier than people of our age and refined tastes should be. I’m happy that simple things make us happy. And increasing like an elf, I have joy for no reason at all.

And at the same time, I carry deeper sorrow. I have attended two funerals in the last couple months. One was the funeral of Lucas, a nine-year-old who died of cancer. People prayed years for his healing, thanked God for his healing when the cancer was in remission, and were broken and confused when the cancer came back. The other funeral was for Rolene, a wonderful older but not elderly lady whose patience and kindness were boundless. She died suddenly in the night, leaving us shocked and her husband shattered. I say this to make clear that my recent attacks of pointless joy are not born from things going well.

Although I recognized my odd mix of joy and sorrow because of Sam Gamgee’s description of elves, this mix is nothing more than becoming Christian—and to a small degree apostolic. When Paul describes his apostolic ministry, he includes in the list, “as sorrowful yet always rejoicing, as poor yet making many rich, as having nothing yet possessing all things.” While embracing apostolic suffering (something I haven’t), Paul was capable of abundant joy because of the wonders of God’s love lavished on him in Christ.

So maybe I am, at this late date, simply learning to follow Christ—it may be that this mix of sorrow and joy has little to do with age and much to do with spiritual maturity. But at least the lines left on my face by time, faithfully serve both joy and sorrow.

Posted in On Faith, Tolkien | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Ordinary Virtues in Ordinary Places

Posted on March 12, 2016 by Mark

Many have written eloquently about how Tolkien celebrates the triumph of ordinary virtues over extraordinary evil. Indeed, this explains why hobbits are at the center of his tales. Their loyalty, perseverance, pity, sense of duty and humble tastes are what in the end defeat the powers of darkness.

What I have not always noticed is how Tolkien foreshadows this victory in the first chapters of The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring. In chapter one of The Hobbit we see Bilbo overwhelmed by a boisterous invasion of thirteen hungry dwarves. He was flustered and feared failing his duty as a host: “He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he—as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful—he might have to go without.”

Now certainly this deluge of dwarves did not seem ordinary to Bilbo. But here at home in Bag-End, Under-Hill, Bilbo practices the virtue of doing his duty. A virtue that will later give him the courage to descend alone down a dark tunnel to face Smaug.

After many adventures the dwarves and Bilbo make it to Lonely Mountain where Smaug dwells. Determined to do his duty as burglar and honor his contract with the dwarves, Bilbo descends alone down a dark tunnel to the dragon’s lair. He pauses when he hears Smaug’s snoring. Tolkien says, “Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did.” It was not a warrior spirit that pushed him forward, he was simply keeping his word to the dwarves and doing his duty as a burglar.

The Lord of Rings begins with an elaborate birthday party. Tolkien explains that hobbits give rather than receive gifts on their birthdays. It clear that unlike dwarves or even elves, hobbits care little for physical possessions. It is precisely this virtue of generosity and unselfishness that enables Frodo to bear the ring for so long through so much.

Tolkien is careful to show that these ordinary virtues so essential to the hobbits’ quest do not surface only in dire straits or exotic adventures. The heroic was possible because the hobbits didn’t practice their virtues only in extraordinary circumstances.

Honestly, many of us wish the heroic did not require this. Few words are more boring or bothersome than “duty”. We often hope we would make a heroic sacrifice when the time comes even though we put ourselves first day by day. However, hobbits teach us the ordinary virtues that make us heroes must first be practiced in ordinary places.

Posted in Culture, Tolkien | Tagged , , | Leave a comment