Musings

Lent

If you are interested in observing Lent with us - considering Christ's suffering and death, anticipating his resurrection, deepening our sense of union with him - do join us on the Coram Deo blog.

Lent begins this Wednesday (Ash Wednesday), but the first post is already up: "Preparing for Lent".

Peace,

Will

Advent

Hey, I am posting daily through the Advent season on the Coram Deo blog. I should have mentioned this earlier, but it woudn't take long to catch up (only four posts to this point).

I am writing about the themes of Advent (Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love), incorporating some of my own reflections regarding these things, and offering a daily Scripture reading. I think this would be a great way to organize your Bible reading and refelctive thought life over the next three weeks.

By the way, I do recommend reading what has been posted thus far, since each day sort of builds on previous thoughts. Just scroll down on the blog to the post titled "Advent".

You can get to the Coram Deo blog by clicking here.

It sounds okay if you call it “busy”

by Will Walker

How does life get turned upside down? Why do we feel under the pile sometimes, as if all our intentions and tasks and relationships have caved in on top of us?

Jesus said, "Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on the rock.”

That is, following Jesus leads us to become a certain kind of person with a certain kind of life; namely, one that doesn’t get buried under the pile, which begs the question, “How did I get so upside down again?” Answer: "Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not act on them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and it fell--and great was its fall."

When I don’t feel under the pile of my independence, life is pretty exciting. Not because I am safe, but because I am free to act for the good of others rather than drowning in the self-absorption that comes from trying to keep my head above water. I’m not worried about my footing because the ground I stand on is solid. It breeds a certain kind of confidence and faith to follow Jesus even further.

I don’t just love Jesus in the relational sense. I love following him, in the way a player loves playing for a great coach or in the way a soldier loves serving under a great general. It just feels like there is no other place I would rather be.

I admire and respect him because of his courage and consistency. He knows what to say and do, and how to say and do it. He does not perform for men. He leads them. He does not pretend to be something that he’s not. He is what He says, and he says what he is. He faces hardship with strength and prayer. He fears no man, yet he gives himself up even his enemies.

His path is straight and good. Walking in it gives one a sense of identity and direction, a security that does not about comfort, but is about confidence and hope.

When I am with him, I am not hurried because he is not hurried, not afraid because he is not afraid, not lazy because he is not lazy, not arrogant because he is not arrogant. I am in fact a wise man who stands on the bedrock of Jesus’ leadership.

So maybe the pile we get under is not just the tyranny of the urgent, but rather the calamity of foolishness.

Laid to Rest

by Will Walker

There are no secrets to spiritual growth. There is humility and repentance and faith.

I cannot explain why we are the way we are.  We try all kinds of things – good things – to change, but every new thing seems to have a shelf life. Even when something works for a while, our tendency is to become superstitious at best and idolatrous at worst. When a particular method or formula or idea eventually loses its effect, we become disappointed. That is, we discover we are still, after all, who we are.

There aren’t any silver bullets when it comes to changing who you are. There is being forgiven for who you are, befriended in spite of who you are, and accepted as you are, but these have to do with love and not change. Perhaps being loved is the only way to be changed. Indeed, every answer leads us here, to the unadulterated grace of God in Jesus, who died for us while we were still helpless, and who now lives through us in our weakness. And to him we submit our “knowledge” and forsake our “righteousness” and entrust our lives.

My God, my rest; my burdens cast on Thee.
When all my best is but a drop in the sea,
You are nothing less than God and rest to me.

HOME

by Will Walker

“Home is where the heart is,” they say. And in this case, I think “they” may be right. If we are aliens, wanderers in a foreign land, born again into a kingdom-of-heaven-citizenship, in the world but not of it, then home and heart are inseparable.

Home is a concept more than it is a locale, though the imagery and meaning of home is profoundly shaped and reinforced by the physicality of place. The idea of home, to me, has to do with security, sincerity, and realm.

Security is the feeling of being safe; the assurance that something of value will not be taken away; protection against attack from without or subversion within. Home at its best is refuge, the immaterial conversion of living rooms and bedrooms to sanctuaries. You can rest at home.

By sincerity, I simply mean that you are never more genuinely you than when you’re at home. If I suddenly begin singing random songs (and making up lyrics about how awesome I am) at work or in the grocery store, that would be considered abnormal. But at home this kind of behavior is the definition of normal. I do and say all kinds of things within the confines of my three-sides-brick that the rest of the world does not see (and does not want to). Home at its best is when people are more honest and authentically themselves.

Home is also a realm of authority and interest. The address that I return to every day is, more than any other place, where I truly have dominion. In Texas I can even shoot someone if they encroach on the small plot of land that is mine. I care far more about what happens to and in my house than I do about any other house, even the white one. So I work hard to protect and improve it, especially the people living in it. Home is a realm, my range of dominion, for good or bad.

If “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” then you might say that home is what you treasure. Someone born into the kingdom would not say that they treasure money or power or an actual house, or even things like clothes and food. They wouldn’t say it on a multiple-choice test, anyway. But what are we to make of the fact that these things are so related to our experience of home? What does the kingdom of God have to do with security, sincerity, and realm?

The challenge for me is to hold on to the concept of home without clinging to the concrete of locale. That is, I think our desires for security, sincerity, and realm are God-given, but that we are prone to satisfy them by our own means, or at least try to.

Safety in the kingdom has everything to do with home, but precisely in the sense that where we go at the end of the day is in fact not our home. The safety we feel in our living rooms is only a symbol of the safety we actually have in God’s care. The house can be destroyed, as can the lives in the house, but with God even death is not a threat. The world becomes our sanctuary as we seek refuge in the enveloping reality of God’s presence among us.

Similarly, the sense we get at home of being able to let our guard down is merely a taste of the kind of freedom we have in the kingdom to be who we are, especially as we are increasingly becoming who God made us to be. And our realm in the kingdom, rather than being confined to the perimeter of front and back yard, is extended wherever we go insofar as we are able to subject our wills to the will of the Father. For we are in Christ, whom God “raised from the dead and seated at His right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but in the age to come.”

I’m not saying to sell everything you have and leave everyone you know. I’m just saying that to treasure or hope in either of these as the substance of our security, sincerity, and realm is to give our hearts to them. Maybe this is why James compares friendship with the world to adultery.

"Radical Faith"

by Will Walker

Lane’s comment on the previous post asked this question: In your paragraph on living radically, you describe how a radical lifestyle alienates you from the complacent. I do not question that we are called to this level of discipleship, but I am curious how that squares in your mind with your emphasis on the communal nature of relationship to Christ? How does one, given the human need for community, live in radical discipleship to Christ, especially among others who are not similarly impassioned?

Lane, good question. Really good. I deserve this. When I first typed the word "Radically" I deleted it, tried to think of a better word, grew impatient and put it back in. The word “radical” as it relates to faith is widely misunderstood. I’d like to address that first, and then speak directly to your question.

A pastor in Austin recently said in his sermon, "God rarely calls us to unusual situations, but He always calls us to unusual living in everyday situations."

Take for example the everyday occurrence of being angry with someone. To kill that person because you are angry would be considered a radical response to that situation. Certainly this is not what it means to live radically for God (militant or bizarre). First of all, murder is wrong (it’s in the top ten things not to do). Second, murder is generally motivated by fear or pride, both of which are also wrong. Not in the top ten explicitly, but underlying all of them.

So let’s say you do not kill the person you are angry with. You just keep your thoughts to yourself and perhaps tell someone later how angry that person made you. While this is better than murder, it is far from radical. It is in fact the norm. And again, like murder, this kind of passivity is usually driven by fear or pride. We either fear the consequences or pride ourselves in the fact that “we would never do such a thing, couldn’t even think of doing it. We are better than that.” Quietist passes for Christian.

But Christianity is neither militant nor passive. We are not called to kill or ignore people in our anger. Our calling— our commission— is to deal with anger in such a way that we are able to think compassionately about other people (even enemies) and do whatever would be best for them. Now that is not normal! It is radical, revolutionary. Not in the bizarre or quietest sense, both of which call attention to themselves by means of overt action. No, unusual living will largely go unnoticed, subversively overcoming evil with good on a day-to-day basis. “Radical” is not a big splash, but rather a consistent drip of behavior rippling the good news of the kingdom ever outward.

Now to Lane’s question about the middle tension -- What if this radical living causes others to exclude us (i.e. they don’t want to live the same way) ... What is to become of community? This is a major barrier, but I think it is primarily a theoretical barrier. It is a version of game theory. Two examples:

1. If I decide that I need to get really serious about the Bible -- reading it, learning it, applying it, talking about it, etc. -- my friends are going to think I am a dork. They will say that I am too serious-minded. They will either not know what to do with me (fear), or they will want nothing to do with me (pride). Being serious about the Bible will only work (be cool or normal) if everyone does it. This kind of thinking reduces us to the games of children: "I'll do it if you do." And of course, rarely is anyone willing to go first.
2. If I am going to live for others— consider their needs before my own— what if nobody else decides to live that way ... who will consider my needs? We would gladly pursue authentic community if we knew others were going to pursue it too. But we don’t want anyone to know we are thinking this, that we are needy. Again, fear and pride freeze us in a stalemate.

The barriers to living unusually in everyday life, as I have tried to illustrate, are fear and pride. This is true of everyone, and the solution for everyone is the same: to embrace the gospel of Jesus, who rejected militant and passive faith by going to the cross. He did not hide, but made himself accessible to generals and whores, the clean and unclean, gave himself up for the good of others, forgiving even his murderers in his last breath.

Radical faith does not exclude your from “the complacent” so much as it launches you out of complacency, complacency in your relationships being the primary issue. Living radically could never mean exclusion from people because the gospel itself is a call to community, living unusually in everyday situations with the same old people, allowing your interactions with them to be means of sanctification in your life as you repent of fear and pride in countless forms, trusting Jesus to transform your anger into compassion.

THE FIRST WILL BE LAST & THE LAST FIRST, BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK?

by Will Walker

Two businessmen (slacks and tie) just sat down at the table next to me. One of them said to the other, “An old manager of mine gave me some good advice.” I like good advice as much as the next guy, and in this situation I actually was the next guy, so I tuned in. He continued, “There are two lists, and you don’t want to be on either one. The first list is a list of bad people. If you are on that one then you are on your way out. The other list is a list of good people. If you are on that one, then you are on your way to the bad list, and soon to be on your way out.’”

The other guy replied, “Yeah, that’s good. A friend of mine gave me similar advice, not as eloquent of course. He said, ‘You don’t ever want to be the first to get there or the last to leave.’”

“That’s right,” affirmed the first guy, “You just want to go unnoticed.”

As is often the case when I overhear things, I felt pity for the two men. “How average,” I thought. Is that really the ambition of their lives: to do well but not too well, to blend in, unnoticed? Pathetic.

Motivating the goal to be unnoticed are pervasive desires for comfort and security. These men, I presume, make a decent living. They have houses and kids and cars and cable and a relatively secure nest egg for retirement. They will live normal lives like everybody else, enjoying the little things, and then grow old and die. They could try to climb up the ladder, but they are afraid of heights. Such a fall would jeopardize the normal life they have worked so hard (but not too hard) to secure. I guess the old saying fits: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

The problem with comfort – as a goal – is that it undermines better goals. A short list of better goals might include: a pursuit of excellence, leadership, passion, honesty, innovation, and personal growth. If you press toward any of these you will likely end up on one of the lists.

As is often the case when I overhear things and feel pity for people and judge them as pathetic, I soon realized my own predicament. Not only am I on both lists -- saint and sinner -- I also want to be first, which requires me to be last. If anyone is on his way out, it’s me. Even if God does not keep these lists, people do. And the prospect of being on the way out with people is dreadful.

If you live radically for God, people are likely to think you are, well, radical. They will exclude you either on the basis of fear (don’t know what to do with you) or pride (want nothing to do with you). If, on the other hand, you sin in ways that are not socially acceptable, people will think of you as a sinner and exclude you for the same reasons. The best way to keep your job (i.e. comfort, approval rating, place in life) is to play it safe. Do the Christian things that people in your circles do, and keep to the sins that seem to be common as well. If you are going to sin in other ways, do not tell anyone unless, of course, honesty is one of the things that people in your circles do. Bottom line: the businessman was right. You just want to go unnoticed.

All this brings to mind Jesus’ words to the angel of the church of Laodicea: “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm, I am about to spit you out of my mouth” (i.e. you'll be on your way out).

Our gods of comfort and security are a bitter taste in God’s mouth. Jesus continues: “You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see. Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” And we will have comfort and security at last!

Getting to the Bottom of Things

by Will Walker

I was in Starbucks a while back and overheard a conversation that I couldn't believe. One lady asked the other about her new car, to which she replied, "Oh yes, I love it. It's really helping my self esteem and all. It's red, you know, and I just feel so much better about myself." I can see how those thoughts might cross someone's mind, but I never imagined that someone would say them out loud with such sincerity. It felt sorry for her.

I thought about that conversation because last week we received a gift that relieved some financial stress in our lives. I have felt a lot of peace and hope since then. Today I also feel pretty cool because I got a new pair of sunglasses. Everyone knows the feeling because new things make people feel good, even improved in some way. From a new pair of sunglasses to a new car, things have a way of making us feel cool or confident or happy. It is short-lived, of course, because new things become old.

When the newness of a particular thing fades, the associated moods and thoughts diminish as well. When the sunglasses get lost (as sunglasses always do) and financial need comes again (as it always does), I will be feeling less cool and peaceful. This is why finding value or security in money or things inevitably leads to anxiety. One can handle only so much disappointment.

People are often disappointed with God. They may not use that word because it is a scary thing to say. If God has failed, where else is there to go? Nevertheless, people feel let down by God. Unanswered prayer. Undeserved trial. Unrelenting temptation. Unthinkable injustice. The world is a mess, everyone knows, but on the level of personal circumstance it is difficult to understand why God would let something happen, or perhaps not make it happen. The appropriate response is to speak of God’s sovereignty, and on some level people must do this (for sanity if nothing else). Below the surface though— beneath the calluses of prescriptive platitudes—disappointment lingers.

Most people suppress such feelings and move on, but move on from what— God? This is how reality and God get divorced in human life. God becomes subject to circumstance … faithful and good when things go well and something else when things go bad. It is an unstable yet common experience, much like how life is better with something new and worse when new becomes old. When past provision loses its luster, the associated feelings of comfort and safety fade as well.

That life goes on with or without God— or at least without an honest dialogue with God— is precisely the reason disappointment goes unresolved, and how God goes unnoticed. For whatever reasons, the human tendency is to enjoy provision rather than provider. Music is more appreciated than the musician. The actions of love are often more cherished than the lover. Pleasure is more sought after than meaning.

It’s part of the consumer culture, I suppose, but God’s provisions have not escaped this tendency. Consider the example from my life. God provided money in a time of need, and my immediate response was to feel relieved. That’s completely normal, but when the prevailing feeling aroused by God’s provision is relief from worry or discomfort, the Giver takes a back seat to the gift. That is, I find myself settling into the ease that the provision has afforded us.

To rest in the gift rather than the Giver is to settle for mere respite when rescue is what is needed. We think we need more money or time or love because, frankly, we do. But the greater need is to be rescued from the kind of shortsightedness that traps us into a paycheck-to-paycheck-worship mentality. A gift in and of itself usually acts as a license for complacency or indulgence. The derivation of the gift— the thoughtfulness of the Giver— acts as an invitation to intimate relationship. The Father is good. The King is benevolent. The Master is kind. The Shepherd is gentle. The Bridegroom is faithful. The Creator condescends. Immanuel, the gift is the Giver!

Fighting for Cash: Revenge and Redemption

by Will Walker

There are two kinds of redemption stories: the self-made man and the rescued man. I’ll use two movies to illustrate.

In Cinderella Man, Jim Braddock (played by Russell Crowe) fell from boxing glory and was consequently beat down altogether by the great depression. He worked hard just to find work. He had nothing, and worse, he had nothing to give his wife and young children. Desperation would be a fitting word if mere words could describe the helplessness of their plight.

The story turned when Braddock finally caught a break, a sliver of light in a dark tunnel … a chance to stand in as a human punching bag in a professional fight. Against all odds, Braddock won the fight, and then another, and another, eventually reclaiming his former glory. It is a moving story about one man’s prevailing spirit in the face of adversity. Jim Braddock is the quintessential self-made man.

“Self-made” is likely to carry a negative connotation in some Christian circles because good evangelicals know that man cannot redeem himself, that “all fall short of the glory of God.” My question, though, is why were people (evangelicals included) moved to tears— of pain and joy— by this movie? Did anyone finish the movie and say to his friends, “Man, too bad he still can’t get into heaven?”

The story moves us because Braddock conveys something of the nature of Christ. His undeserved suffering elicits our confusion and anger. His humility and sacrifice arouses our admiration. Who was not stirred when Braddock looked his oldest son in the eye (after he had stolen food) and told him that he would never leave him? His constant commitment was to serve and fight for his family whatever the cost. Then he did what no one thought possible; he came back from boxing death to reign again.

The story moves us because of our own longing to overcome, to reclaim the glory of Eden that haunts us all. But Cinderella Man is a picture of redemption, not a prescription. That is, on some level the movie appeals to our sense of ambition. When we experience failure or pain or rejection, we naturally want to prove ourselves— our worth, our skill, that we belong somewhere in this world. But this is not redemption. It’s more like vengeance.

This is what we see in Walk The Line. The depth and beauty of Johnny Cash’s life and songs are rooted in pain. The death of his brother. A father who blamed him for it. The hardship of the Air force. A father who belittled his service. A struggling marriage. A father-in-law who never wanted it to happen. A dream to play music. The unforgettable words of daddy saying that it’s nothin’, that he was nothin’. Johnny Cash had a dream that was fueled in part by a desire to prove himself to those around him.

As such, most of the movie is a story of self-made redemption, but of a different sort than Braddock’s. For Cash, getting to the top only made for more room to fall: Drugs. Adultery. Divorce. Depression. Hurt. The difference is their respective motives. Whereas Braddock endured pain, Cash ran from it. Whereas Braddock endured for the sake of others, Cash was driven by selfish ambition. Braddock’s story is about redemption. Cash’s story (through most of the movie) felt more like revenge.

Redemption does come to Cash, not by his own effort, but through the sacrificial help of June Carter (and her parents). They entered his pain, did for him what he could not do on his own, and loved him for who he was, in spite of what he had become. They rescued him and restored life to his existence.

God says that vengeance is His alone, which is why it’s a bad motivator in the long run (you spend your whole life chasing something you can’t have). For God though, vengeance seems to be wed to redemption. The cross of Christ is a stumbling block and a gateway, the stench of death and a fragrant aroma. The grace of God stores up wrath for the self-made man, yet rescues him from his plight.

Jesus faced hardship like no one else: unjustly. Yet He lived for our benefit, enduring hardship for the glory set before Him. He is the only man who can save Himself. He entered our pain, did for us what we could not do on our own, loved us for who we were, in spite of what we had become. He rescued us and restored Life to our existence.

Great accomplishment is often conceived in times of great pain and rejection. These are strong motivating forces, but achievement is not redemption. It merely unveils the fall that we cannot escape and leads us to the one who accomplishes redemption on our behalf. For Christ our Savior is the perfection of both stories: the self-made Redeemer.

Fallen on Hard Times

by Will Walker

Trials press in from every side, appearing larger than they are, than they possibly could be. James said that people should consider it joy whenever they face trials of many kinds. They probably should.

But what qualifies as a trial? This is a difficult question because hard times have a narrowing effect on perspective, telescoping one’s view of things to the point that small matters— like gasoline and insurance rates and the annoying things people do— seem to be the collapsing structure that once supported life as usual. Limited perspective makes mere annoyance feel like real hardship.

In such cases, the anxieties of individual kingdoms distract their rulers and disconnect them from the kingdom of God. That is, domestic policy reigns with an ever-diminishing scope. It is not that other people and realities do not exist or matter, but simply that they do not come into view. Out of sight, out of mind.

Such is the plight of self-absorption, which is precisely why Jesus warned against it. He taught that a primary concern for one’s well being would in fact secure uncertainty and worry. Chief concern for the way of God’s kingdom, on the other hand, broadens one’s view so drastically that they all but lose sight of themselves. Such people are in fact free to serve others because they are not too consumed with their own trials. Out of sight, out of mind.

This explains why anyone who seeks to save his life will lose it, and in the opposite sense, why anyone who loses his life for Jesus’ sake will find it.

But individual existence should not be ignored. It is, after all, where people live. In other words, one must not pretend he does not have hardships, but rather endure and overcome them precisely by seeing them as they really are. What are they? Common to humanity. Vital to sanctification. Conducive to relationship. Hardship is a wake-up call. Yes, trials awaken complacent minds and arouse dull senses to the complexity and color of God’s redemptive work in the brokenness among us.

The natural response to trials, of course, is to turn one’s concern and energy inward— to fend for one’s survival, or more likely, to protect one’s quality of life. This is a tragic twist, though, because hard times ought to have the opposite effect, namely, empathy-driven sacrifice for those who were out of sight until now. Every person needs what he can only give.

To lose one’s life is not to disdain or devalue it. It is to let go of the telescope and see the world as it really is, not centered on any person but Jesus, “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation … things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities … He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. And He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything He might have the supremacy” (Col 1).

This reorientation to the supremacy of Jesus reveals the true beauty and value of individual existence, a value that transcends the momentary annoyances that masquerade as trials. There is redemption, even in the seemingly small things, but it comes from outside oneself. People are rarely “fixed” left to their own devices and grandiose plans.

To be clear, annoyance is a condition of self-absorption that distorts the relative importance of things, so that what often feels like hardship is more like an impediment to a taken-for-granted lifestyle. In contrast, trials are an affront to the reign of God’s kingdom, and are only bearable to those who no longer assert their kingdom as the most vital reality. Trial is the way of communal faith and redemption. Annoyance is the way of narcissism.