What You Asked For

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Mark

The beginning of The Hobbit is a joy. It is more of a delight now than when I first read it fifty years ago. I may not have a snug hobbit hole, but today I am comfortable. I have lived in the same house and taught at the same place for over twenty years. Like Bilbo, I need no adventures. And yet . . ..

Bilbo is forthright in declaring, “We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things.” He then adds a hobbit’s strongest argument, “Make you late for dinner.” He tries to send Gandalf on his way with “We don’t want any adventures here, thank you!” But Gandalf hangs around.

After Gandalf tells Bilbo his name, Bilbo gushes on about the fireworks he had seen as a boy and about how Gandalf had sent so many quiet lads and lasses “off into the Blue for mad adventures.” Bilbo then wistfully exclaims, “Bless me, life use to be quite inter—I mean, you use upset things badly in these parts once upon a time.”

And there you have it—the conflict within Bilbo. And within me. Perhaps within us all. Like Gandalf, the Holy Spirit comes looking for someone to join him in adventures. Often we seek to send him on his way. After all, there is a fine line between adventure and trouble. God’s Spirit can “upset things badly.” But there is a part of us that longs for that kind of upset—in our churches and our lives.

Here is one of the terrible things about the Holy Spirit: he knows us better than we know ourselves. Like Bilbo, we can insist we are respectable Baggins who do not want adventures. But God knows better. Gandalf proclaims to Bilbo, “Indeed for your old grandfather Took’s sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for.” Gandalf rightly identified the “Tookish” part of Bilbo’s heart—the part eager for adventure.

Bilbo, however, protests that he had not asked Gandalf for anything. Amused, Gandalf explains that that he had indeed begged his pardon twice. Gandalf gives his pardon and adds, “In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure.”

The whole introduction to The Hobbit is Bilbo being given that for which he did not ask and going on the journey that he did not seek. At age fifty. This is wonderful because it is the way God drags us into the things we did not know we wanted. God is always giving us what we asked for even when we have not asked. Adventures!

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Log-jam

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Mark

For the last couple months I haven’t written anything. I am not certain the reason for the writer’s block. A loss of confidence or dearth of ideas? A fondness for words like “dearth”? Or perhaps it is a log-jam, too much stuff pushing down the river at the same time.

Log-jams are common in streams and rivers along the Oregon coast. For a longtime we mistakenly thought we needed to clear out these messes so that the salmon could migrate up and down the rivers more easily. In fact, for years loggers were required to clean the logs and slash out of the river and creek beds after logging an stand of timber.

Well, turns out we were wrong. The more biologists studied the salmon, the more obvious it became that log jams were essential habitat for the young salmon making their way back to the sea. Behind and under these log-jams deep pools formed where the fish could escape the summer sun. Today out-of-work loggers are hired to cut alders and drag them into river beds. We make log-jams.

I have learned that my own log-jams are valuable in ways I don’t understand. When I was on yearly contracts at the college, I send out job applications all over to no avail. I was, it turned out, stuck in Myrtle Point with no clear calling or purpose. In the midst of that log-jam, I began persistently asking God what he wanted from me. A dangerous question, I suspect.

God drew my attention to Job 29 and 31 and I began praying earnestly that God would make me a father to the fatherless. Although I knew nothing about soccer, I imagined myself coaching a soccer team of little street urchins. A few weeks later someone in Teckla’s little youth group asked if we would adopt his three nephews in foster-care. We did.

I have learned to look at log-jams differently. To value the deep pools scoured by the current. When I asked Teckla why I hadn’t been able to write anything for this blog, she said, “Because you are supposed to be writing a short story.” Although seeming completely out of the blue, it felt true. And Teckla had said it! So I have written one.

I have no idea if it is any good and I’m sure it needs some rewriting before anyone reads one. It is, however, an important step for me.

But that’s not the point. The point is to not dynamitelog jam our log-jams. They have value. In their slow, cool water we find rest and nourishment for our journey. We may even find family and our own creativity.

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The King’s Fool

Posted on January 15, 2016 by Mark

I was surprised and delighted to discover that in Chrétien des Troyes’ tale of Perceval, King Arthur’s fool is also a prophet. Immediately, this felt important. The fool is a prophet? Or perhaps prophets are fools?

I tried speaking briefly on this at a writing workshop, but the threads of my thoughts got tangled and knotted. All my hoped for flashes of brilliance puddled. (My apologies to all present.) Here’s my third attempt to express the significance of this story.

In the tale of Perceval, the fool prophesies that a young maid will not laugh until she sees the man destined to be supreme among knights. When this maid sees Perceval, she laughs and prophesies his greatness even though he is nothing more than a rustic Welshman wearing the canvas shirt his mother made. Sir Kay, who had been scolded by Arthur for mocking Perceval, cuffs the maid and kicks the fool into the fire.

Later the fool rightly prophesies that Perceval will silence Kay’s wicked tongue by breaking his arm and collar-bone. Chrétien says Kay would have killed the fool if he had not feared offending King Arthur. The fool is never named despite all his prophesies coming true.

I have now figured out why this story resonates with me. First, I am and have been a fool for Christ. Several times I have lost or given up jobs following what I believed to be God’s will. Was it? Or was God playing a joke on me? Maybe I fooled myself; I don’t know.

I have, some might say foolishly, pursued and poured hours of prayer into the restoration of the Church to New Testament power and holiness. I have given my heart and energy to a small church in a small town in the backwoods of Oregon. I now share with others a vision for a Rivendell for writers—a spiritual and creative refuge where the creative arts are nurtured for the glory of God. Silly stuff.

Second, like King Arthur’s fool, I am not a knight. I am an English teacher. I tell and teach the old stories. And surprisingly, like Arthur’s fool, I am at home with the prophetic. Although I make no claims to a prophetic gift, and have, in fact, spent years backing away from it, I still value prophets and prophetic ministry.

My years in Kansas City and my friendship with John Paul Jackson and others have shown me the many ways that prophets are God’s fools. In the king’s court fools lived on the edge of disaster because the wrong word could cost them their head. Prophets embrace the same vulnerability of fools. They have no protection but the king’s. And like fools of old, prophets speak words but do not fight the battles.

I have resented this. Most of my life I would have rather been Perceval—the young knight destined to win battles and find the Holy Grail. This story has haunted me, I suspect, because it spoke to me that I am the fool—full of silly stories and the prophetic visions. With no sword or armor. No kingdom or castle.

Prophets and fools, prophetic fools are stripped of pride. Yet beneath their wit and clowning, fools were often full of wisdom. As in the story of Perceval, the fool was often the one who saw people’s hearts most clearly. Loyal to the king and without ambition, the fool was free of all the pride and passion that blinded others. And by telling an old story or silly joke, the fool could help others to see too.

Here’s a good one. One day a prophet, an English teacher, and a clown walk into a church. Hilarious!

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Better Together

Posted on December 23, 2015 by Mark

Katie Wells

Take a minute and pretend you’re in the woods. You start out confident, trusting in your capability to take an axe to a tree trunk or whatever you’re supposed to do to make a home for yourself. But, immediately after you enter the maze, your axe breaks, and the wood splinters to tiny bits in your hands. You didn’t buy the right one. But, it’s too late to go back now. You press forward, and your hand hurts, and if only you had packed some tweezers or something. Maybe you can use a rock as a knife–people do that, don’t they? To your right and left, you see others forging ahead without a pause. Your subpar mediocrity hits you in the chest and somehow you’re angry at everything all at once. Yourself–for being entirely too underwhelming. Your school–for failing to instruct you on the best tools to acquire, or any necessary skills you might need if you’re going to be self-sufficient. The people around you–for somehow managing to complete with ease what you’re struggling to do.

Fast forward a while. You’re sitting on the forest floor, you have gathered nothing, and your hand hurts. You can hear barking in the distance. You have no food or shelter, and it’s getting dark. A presence looms over you, and you whip around.

It’s this old guy, and he’s got a backpack on that rivals the size of your torso. He’s staring at you.

“What do you want?” You sound like a blubbering idiot.

“C’mere.” He holds a hand out and lifts you to your feet. The tightness in your chest eases.
That first part is kind of what being a new adult feels like, and for some reason, all of us young adults are under the belief that no one else has ever felt this way. We’re lost and afraid and hurting.

We need someone to take the time to listen to us and give us feedback that’s based in God, in Truth, and in wisdom from having gone before. We need mentors. As is, at times we end up spitting useless phrases back and forth at each other.

“Oh, you’re hurt? That’s terrible. You know, there are trees here.”

“Thank you, Kelsey, that’s so helpful. Sometimes I forget about the trees.”

“No problem. I feel like the trees are important to what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“I agree.”

My intention in my teasing is not to undermine young people giving each other advice. When you’re hurting, the comfort of a friendly conversation can go a long way. But, if all of a young person’s advice comes from their fellow youth, they’re not going to have as deep of a pool of knowledge and experience to draw from. If someone older can come along and show us how to actually cut the trees, can give us a map of all the tiger pits, we’re going to end up in a better position come nightfall.

And yes. We’re afraid of your judgement. We’re terrified that you’re going to peek at the mess of sticks and inedible berries that we’ve spent hours gathering, only to laugh in our faces and lecture us on how we got ourselves into this position rather than show us how to make it better.

I guess that’s kind of prideful, because we probably deserve to be lectured. But, judgement alone feels like you’re thrusting a napkin across the table when what we really need is the actual food. Both food and napkins are helpful, both are necessary. But, everyone knows that the person who only brings napkins to the potluck is probably the least invested. Invest in us.

We need you to love us.

Mark Wilson

I’m sixty-two, but I have discovered that I need to be around young people. The young give me eyes to see again the wonder of the world. Every grandparent has had the joy of watching a grandchild discover ice-cream for the first time. Or perhaps see their first elephant. No matter how familiar I am with a story or poem, when I teach it I see it with new eyes because I see it through the eyes of my students. The young inoculate me against a common ailment of the old: contempt for the familiar. Too easily the old assume a “been there, done that” boredom with life. It is true that foolishness as well as hope spring eternal in the young—but I love the spring.

Unfortunately, our culture has institutionalized segregation by age. Obviously our schools are far beyond the one-room school house where the children of different ages mixed. Most homes are not inter-generational these days either; grandparents are people we visit. American mobility separates us from our extended families and other generations. Churches, especially the large ones, often provide children’s church and youth ministries so that the young and old seldom worship together. Rather than challenging the development of the distinct youth culture in America, many evangelical churches tried to ride the wave by hiring youth pastors. I could multiply examples, but the result has been the young and old often live in different worlds and fail to connect. We need each other.

I need the young to save me from myself. In our culture, these years nearing retirement with an empty nest are supposed to be when my wife and I finally get to focus on ourselves. But that is deadly. On the way to work I drive past a casino whose parking lot is filled with the RV’s of retirees who make a circuit through the state from one casino to the next. This is an extreme expression of the kind of spiritual death that comes from a retirement centered on ourselves. Teaching young people, working in Vacation Bible School, and just showing interest in the lives of young people saves us by drawing us out of ourselves and challenging us to invest in a generation that will endure beyond us.

Most importantly, serving and giving to the young rescues old hearts from emptiness. Both the old who live to achieve their dreams and those who have had them dashed can be attacked by the numbing emptiness of loss and regret. The fresh dreams and passions of the young are a tonic for the soul. Nourishing the dreams of the young can infuse our lifetime of experiences and insight with value and utility.

Listening to young people teaches me much about what truths and values are timeless. Yes, I said listening. This means shelving old geezer Rant #57, and letting a young person explain how it’s not possible for us to understand what it is like to be in love, depressed, unpopular, or the wonderfully unique person they are. But when we listen carefully, we discover the things that matter to them have always been a human concern. We feel less alone, and if we listen well, make them less alone too. No matter how fads and technologies change our world, communication with the young reveals how little the human heart has changed. If we listen, we discover their world is still ours.

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Here! Here!

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Mark

Sometimes a phrase from the Bible chases me down the street like a meth-house pit bull. This week I can’t get away from the last words of Isaiah 40:9 “Say to the towns of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’” Aren’t these the words we long to speak to our towns? To those in the sin-fog of small town addictions or lost in the bright emptiness of affluence.

I desperately want us (the church here) to be able to say to the hopeless “Here! Here is your God!” Not, “Here is another group of religious folks huddled in a corner.” Nor “Here is a cool church with a great worship band and lattes in the foyer.” As is often the case, my longing has turned into an inarticulate prayer—an ache toward God.

I just flat-out don’t know the answer to the ineffectiveness of the church. I know all the usual answers. Greater holiness! More prayer! More cultural relevance! More good works! Back to the Bible! Forward to revival!

But in the midst of all this theological chatter, I remembered there is another place where the bold word “Here” is used. In chapter 6 Isaiah answered, “Here am I. Send me!” when he heard God ask, “Whom shall I send?”

We should not underestimate the power of the word “Here.” We are often tempted to think of how we will serve God somewhere else, at another time, or in different circumstances. In many ways it easier to surrender our future to God than our present. To get to God’s “there” we have to give him our “here”.

I still don’t know the answer, but I think these two “heres” are connected. I think we have to say the first “here” to God if we are ever going to say the second “here” to our towns. I want to make certain I am standing before God and, with all that is within me, saying, “Here am I. Send me.” I can’t say much else. Other words fail.

But I am certain there is power in being fully present to God. Power for our lives, power for our churches. Power to say to the world, “Here is your God!”

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Side-to-Side Pastors

Posted on November 28, 2015 by Mark

The other evening the emcee for the National Dog Show commented that the herding dogs needed not only the ability to run quickly in a straight line, but also side to side. I immediately thought about how pastors need both kinds of movement, but often aren’t good at the side-to-side.

I have seen Australian shepherds do this, dart from one side of the flock to the other to keep the sheep from scattering and to keep them moving forward. I have seen this less often among pastors. Often we get the strong alpha-male visionary pastor who sprints towards God. He looks behind only to discover no one has kept up, some have sprained ankles (or hearts), and others have veered off. The pastor may not be alone at this point, but may find only the natural leaders have kept pace. Just a pack of dogs romping on the hill.

Side-to-side pastors keep their eyes on the flock and move quickly when sheep bolt. With a yap and if needed a nip, they keep the flock safe and together. I watched a pastor do some of this once. A member of the congregation had fallen into some serious immorality. Many pastors would have let the person drift away from the church in shame and bondage. But this pastor walked to the house, sat down with the people, and called them to repentance. In the end, he saved a life and a soul.

But the side to side isn’t just for strays, sometimes the flock can drift too far to the left or right. All those pursuing God passionately get excited by new revelation of God’s character or truth. If the pastor gets a fresh burden for the lost, the whole church may spend the next five years working a personal evangelism program. When the pastor discovers how desperately the church needs to experience community and body life, the congregation is divided into small groups. If the pastor reads about God’s chosen fast in Isaiah 58, the soup kitchen opens and the clothing drive starts. All good stuff.

The side-to-side pastor, however, helps his flock avoid extremes. He can share new revelations and directions without giving the flock whiplash. Salvation by grace is balanced with a call to discipleship. Ministry to souls is balanced with compassion for people’s physical needs. Teaching God’s Word is followed by doing God’s Word. Having eyes on the flock helps the side-to-side pastor detect any drift of the flock too far in any direction—even good ones.

I’m not sure why side-to-side pastoring is so rare in the church. Some flocks probably want pastors who ignore spiritual straying. Of course, we use the term pastor for anyone called to ministry including teachers, prophets, and evangelists, so we sometimes get leaders with no gift for herding. Many may have prophetic vision for where God wants to take a congregation, another may have a gift for bringing in new Christians to pursue that vision, and teachers may equip believers with the truths that sustain them on their journey. But without the side-to-side, sheep-herding pastors, the congregation will never arrive where God has called them.

Of course, we want sheep dogs—not wolves. And many have been burned by pastors who are controlling the flock, so want a pastor with no bark or bite. At first thought, being herded like a bunch of sheep may not be appealing. We need not be afraid because the best herding dogs have eyes on their flock, but ears tuned to the voice of the master.

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The War on Thanksgiving

Posted on November 22, 2015 by Mark

Every year the news fills with examples of the war on Christmas, citing examples that are serious, but many that are silly. We, however, often overlook the more pervasive and damaging war that is waged against Thanksgiving. This is a story of three enemies.

The first is obvious: consumerism. The push to buy stuff and measure our happiness with stuff begins after Halloween and lasts into the first week of January. Newspapers fill with advertisements and Google tracks our viewing so they can clutter Facebook with ads. Black Friday has metastasized into Thursday nights. Advertisers fuel our buying by making us discontent with what we have and yearning for what we don’t. Thanksgiving has become an intermission in our madness.

Too often we fail to fight this culture war against consumerism because the battlefield is our own heart and the enemy our own desires. It’s more fun to rail against godless hordes of secular humanists who are stealing Christmas decorations from coffee cups. But it is our own greed that robs us of joy and gratitude.

A second enemy is our consumerist approach to God. Too often God has been marketed as a blessing machine or a heavenly fix it man. We sometimes think God is in the business of delivering the American dream: great job, nice house, happy marriage, perfect kids and lots of stuff. When all this doesn’t fall in place, this false advertising steals our thanksgiving and sets the table with bitterness and disappointment.

Over the years, I have been blessed to have two pastors who struggled with addictions after they became Christians. God didn’t immediately fix everything in their in life. Both had, however, hearts grateful for the simple truths of the good news: God loves you, God has cleansed you, God has called you his child, and God has given you eternal life. Too often we recite these blessings without emotion while really feeling, “Yeah, yeah, but what have you done for me lately?” To defeat this enemy, we must intentionally rekindle our first love and the excitement of discovering God’s love and amazing grace.

A third enemy is our own forgetfulness. God was always telling Israel to remember what he had done for them in Egypt and how he had cared for them in the wilderness. The whole Passover celebration is meant to help them remember and be grateful. The extraordinary measures it takes to help Israel remember—festivals and sacrifices—reveals how easily we forget God’s blessings. It also reveals we must work at thanksgiving.

Present need and worry are always erasing past blessings and past answers to prayer. What we want for our future makes us forget what God has given in the past. God calls us to walk in the discipline of thanksgiving. We must rebel against the tyranny of present concerns and defiantly give thanks in the face of all our fears and unanswered prayers.

I doubt that the war on Thanksgiving will get on the news because we have met the enemy and sadly it’s our own selfish hearts. But winning this war is far more important than the war to get sales clerks to say, “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays”. If we win this war, we gain hearts of gratitude: a Christmas gift precious to God.

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Ahhh

Posted on November 16, 2015 by Mark

So I love this paradox about following Jesus: the more we become like Him, the more we are ourselves. This means Jesus is a refuge for our individuality, uniqueness, and identity. And honestly, Jesus is a refuge against the pressures of religious people who demand conformity to a religious culture. We can run hard after Jesus and never give up any genuine part of ourselves—no matter who slings criticism.

I love the story at the end of John when the resurrected Jesus appears on the shoreline and fixed breakfast. Peter (I love that guy) exclaims, “It is the Lord,” throws himself into the water, and heads to shore. Jesus, after all was the one, who told Peter he was Peter. I can throw myself with wild abandon at Jesus and not lose myself. In fact, it is in, through, and from him that I discover my true self.

And isn’t this the safe place young people need today? They are awash in a sea of social media that hammers them to establish their identity—to nail down profiles. I love the passion for the authenticity I see in young people. But it’s so much more powerful to define ourselves by what we love instead of by what we hate—by who we follow rather than what we flee.

I still get tempted to define myself by what kind of Christian I’m not: greed driven-TV evangelist, anti-intellectual bumpkin, bigoted racist, and on and on. Running from this stuff wearies me. It is so freeing to run to Jesus instead. I’ve surrendered to him as my maker by giving to him all the quirky stuff I keep discovering in me. I know he put it there and knows what to do with it.

All the things that don’t fit anywhere else, fit in Jesus. Ahhh.

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Tearing Off the Roof

Posted on November 15, 2015 by Mark

One of my favorite stories in the gospels is about the guys that tore the roof off the house and lowered their paralytic friend into the presence of Jesus. It has moved my heart since my days in Sunday school when it was acted out on a flannel graph by my teacher. I’ve always wanted to be one of those guys on the roof. I am still committed to removing stuff that gets between people and Jesus.

To sign up for this job, there are really only two requirements. First, you must believe everything depends on getting people to Jesus. Not to our doctrines, to our denomination, or to our politics. Second, we must love people enough to do anything to get them to Jesus. Often we care more about our comfort and personal preferences than the people who need to meet Jesus.

The result is Jesus-centered flexibility. I don’t mind the church being seeker-friendly if we are Jesus-centered. Tear off any tradition if it gets in the way of people coming to Jesus. My nostalgia for old hymns (I have it bad) has never been as important as people entering God’s presence during worship. Style does not matter to me. I can enjoy high church liturgy, back-hills pentecostal, and rock and roll contemporary. I just want Jesus touching people. It’s not about me.

We have to be so radically Jesus-centered that we are constantly examining all our traditions and personal tastes to make certain none are keeping people from Him. We may discover that amplified rock concert worship is actually eliminating congregational singing and worship. We might discover the Spirit moving in the simplicity of Quaker silence and waiting on God. Who knows? Again, I don’t care about the style—I want Jesus moving and working in our services.

But here is something I do care about. I believe bringing people to Jesus means letting the church be the Body of Christ as described in I Corinthians 12, 13, and 14. In these passages Paul teaches that all the members have gifts that should be used for the building-up of the church. After extensive teaching on how these gifts work, Paul sums up:

What is the outcome then, brethren? When you assemble, each one has a psalm, has a teaching, has a revelation, has a tongue. Let all things be done for edification. I Corinthians 14:26

Now, I don’t believe every gift has to be used in every gathering of believers. But if we made experiencing the Body of Jesus (I Corinthians 12) central to the ministry of the church, it would tear the roof off the way most of us do church.

First, the paid (sometimes barely paid) pastor might not be the center of attention at every meeting. Or he might not be the only one teaching. Or teaching might not be the only gift exercised. We might have to retrain people to become active participants in the meetings. Since this can’t be done in big meetings, small group gatherings would become more important than the big traditional Sunday morning service. In which case we might not even need church buildings. See what a mess you make when you start tearing open the roof?

Body life, however, is not optional. Bringing people to Jesus means bringing them to a fully functional Body of Christ that is filled with the Holy Spirit. All those gifts described in I Corinthians 12 are just a breakdown of the ministry Jesus had before He left and sent the Holy Spirit. It’s not about being charismatic or pentecostal—it is about being Jesus to a lost and hurting world. We can’t be Jesus-centered without opening up to the Holy Spirit who bears witness to Jesus and through whom Jesus indwells us. We need to tear off anything that keeps the church from being the healing hands of Jesus.

But the demolition of the roof gets worse. Jesus doesn’t dwell just in the Church’s gatherings, He dwells in each believer. That means that as our culture becomes increasingly secular and unchurched, we can’t get people to Jesus by inviting them into church building. We might have to actually be friends with people. Go out for coffee. Sit and talk at Starbucks, no matter what their cups look like. We can’t just depend on the hired help to share the gospel. We may discover that we need the full ministry described in Ephesians: apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers and evangelists. The one paid jack-of-all-ministries might become obsolete. Pew warmers might have to take Jesus into their communities.

Another thing that gets between people and Jesus is our tendency to preach Jesus-plus. Jesus plus our politics. Jesus plus our faith in capitalism. Jesus plus our favorite and often narrow list of moral issues. All of which may be good and even important stuff. All of which isn’t Jesus and which hands people excuses for not considering Him.

Another way we tear off the roof is by destroying people’s stereotypes of Christians. Many of these stereotypes are genuine faults that have been magnified and generalized to all Christians. For instance, I know some Christians are easily offended by sinners acting and talking like sinners. I’m not. Some Christians can be mean and self-righteous, so I try to be kind. Some Christians are intellectually lazy, so I try not to be. You name the stereotype; I’m against it. That’s because I have noticed that in Scripture, the sinners liked Jesus—the religious people not so much. Somehow people have to see Jesus—not just all the stereotypes nourished by hypocrites.

But we must be careful not to get too fond of demolition. I am ready to do radical things to get people to Jesus, but not for the sake of being radical. Some Christians have become so committed to creating genuine Christian community that community has become an end in itself. Community should be what happens as we follow Jesus together. It is always about Him.

This post doesn’t have a proper ending. We could probably write a book on tearing off the roof to get people to Jesus. There is no end to the work, but nothing beats seeing Jesus touch people. It should be what we live for. We should remember, however, that it took four people to lower the man to Jesus. We need to do this together.

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Sword Polishing

Posted on November 11, 2015 by Mark

“I’m sick of Bible studies,” I thought. I went to the Sunday night Bible study anyway. But I was feeling cranky. I fully realize the silliness of my feelings. After all, I have led Bible studies for years. I love God’s Word, and teach a Sunday school class every week. The feelings, however, were genuine and disconcerting.

I get this fever of discontent every few years. After one bad bout, I quit teaching Sunday school for a year. To put it bluntly, I tire of teaching God’s Word and not doing it. This is not a case of a guilty conscience or hypocrisy catching up with me. Although not perfect by any measure, I’m good at loving folks and doing Christian niceness. I can’t think of any area of my life not surrendered to God.

But sometimes it feels that I am forever polishing the sword of the Spirit, God’s Word, and never using it. I do a lot of God’s Word, most of what is accepted and expected within Christian culture. Jesus commissioned his disciples to heal the sick and cast out evil spirits. He did a lot of that himself. But I don’t, and thankfully (I guess) no one expects me to. And I can go days without worrying about my failure to do what Jesus told his disciples to do if I don’t study the Bible.

Sometimes I hate how easily I embrace life in The First Church of Low Expectations. I can plod along happily on pleasantries before and after church services until I start reading Paul’s description of how we should be edifying each other through the gifts of the Spirit. Or how we should be holding each other accountable through exhortation, correction, and rebuke. When I read that stuff, my hearts sinks because we are no closer to doing it than we were ten years ago. For the most part we are like every other American church; we don’t really know what’s going on in the lives of our brothers and sisters. Sure we share prayer requests and praises, but they seldom open us up to the ministry of others. The more I read the Bible the more I realize we aren’t doing all the Bible’s one-anothers.

The strange part is that the more passionately I pursue God, the more I dislike Bible studies. For instance, we just studied Philippians 2:1-2 where Paul urges the church there to be “like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose.” Am I actually doing all I can to obey this? Or am I content to sit in my denominational silo and just move on to the next verse in our Bible study? Why not swing the sword of the Spirit at the status quo of division, isolation, and irrelevance? Taking God’s Word seriously ruins me.

Ok. Maybe we simply can’t actually do all of God’s Word. Maybe God won’t or can’t empower us to heal and cast out of demons like Jesus did. Maybe we can’t have any more unity among believers than we now do. And maybe the radical discipleship and mutual accountability described by Paul is unreasonable. However, we can’t know this until we have given our hearts and lives to obeying God in these areas. We can’t know until as a church we have confessed our barrenness and in prayer cried out for God to fill us and change us.

I am not afraid that God won’t answer our broken-hearted prayer. I am afraid of my own fat heart—content with the status quo. Content to polish my sword and slide it into its sheath unused.

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