Musings

I Feel Called

By Bob Thune

In the past week, I have had two rather puzzling conversations. In the first, a guy was convinced that God was calling him to be a part of our church. In the second, a girl was convinced that God was calling her to leave our church.

So what’s the problem? These interactions are very normal in evangelicalism. This is how we talk. We are comfortable speaking matter-of-factly about God calling us to this or that. The problem is that in both of my conversations this week, I know for a fact that there are some deeper things at work under the surface: things like approval and comfort and conflict avoidance. So the statement “God is calling me” seems shallow and contrived rather than deep and theological. And this whole matter is making me pessimistic about what it means for God to call people to this or that.

On the one hand, I affirm the personal, visceral sense of the Holy Spirit’s moving in someone’s life. God does that. I’ve felt it. I am in ministry because I sense God’s calling on my life in this way. And this is the language we should be using if we really believe that God is intimately acquainted with all our ways (Ps. 139:3) and actively directing our steps (Prov. 16:9).

On the other hand, it seems like “God is calling me” is a convenient trump card to avoid talking about deeper issues. We are quick to invoke the hand of God upon our decisions because it keeps us from having to deal with the realities of the Fall – things like uncertainty and doubt and selfishness.

For example, God could indeed be calling me to go to a new church. Or, I could be (selfishly) dissatisfied with my old church and looking for some greener grass. I could be running from conflict. I could be avoiding some relational tension that my actions have caused in the community. I could be falling into consumerist patterns (see Will's recent post here). In fact, when everything is weighed in the balance, the chance that I’m protecting my own comfort dramatically outweighs the possibility that God Himself is calling me elsewhere.

So I’m wondering today: why are we so quick to invoke the Almighty as the cause of our actions? What would be wrong with letting the responsibility rest with us? We could just as easily say, “I’ve decided to attend a different church.” Such a response would keep God’s sovereignty in play while at the same time leaving plenty of room for selfish mistakes or mistaken discernment.

I’m interested to hear your thoughts on this issue. I have more to say, but I sense God calling me to stop writing now.

Da Vinci Code: The Earth Is Flat!

by Bob Thune

A well-known Christian organization sent me a piece of mail last week announcing a new strategy to "rebut [the] lies about Jesus" that are put forth in The Da Vinci Code movie.

The hype is just beginning. The evangelical hype, I mean. This is the next big thing for outreach! I have in my possession books by two well-known authors which purport to set the record straight. Churches are planning whole sermon series around this movie.

Are there historical falsehoods in The Da Vinci Code? Yes. Do those falsehoods challenge the orthodox Christian tradition? Yes. Is it our job to “demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God” (2 Cor 10:5)? Yes. So I appreciate the efforts of those who would challenge heresy and reassert orthodoxy.

But something rubs me the wrong way about this “evangelical response to The Da Vinci Code.” It seems to me like we’re a little too excited about defending the truth. Sometimes, in our passion to make sure people get the right version of the story, the church comes off looking like the Wizard of Oz – as if we’re trying to keep people from looking too carefully behind the curtain.

See, the thing about truth is that it just IS. Truth is true. It doesn’t necessarily need to be defended. The Old Testament word for glory – as in the glory of God – is a word that means weighty. The truth is heavy. If someone wishes to argue for the flatness of the Earth, thoughtful people don’t spend much time debunking that claim. We let the truth speak for itself. But when it comes to The Da Vinci Code, we Christians seem to be worried that the weight of God’s glory in Christ will be obscured by some wrong ideas in a work of popular fiction.

So I’m wondering: what would it be like if the church let truth defend itself? What if our response to Dan Brown’s version of the story was simply to smile and laugh and shake our heads, the same way we would toward flat-earth theorists? Would not such a response prove more thought-provoking than our frantic rush to defend orthodoxy?

“The line between fact and fiction may very well blur, and many men and women will leave theaters with very wrong ideas about Christ,” said the letter I received. I’m trying to imagine a similar letter directed at false views of science: “…many men and women will leave theaters with very wrong ideas about the shape of the earth!”

Apparently we don’t consider the truth about Jesus to be as well established as geology or cosmology. If we did, would we feel the need to defend it so vigorously?

Community and Idolatry

by Bob Thune

Will and Brett and I have talked and written a lot about how gospel-centered living is a communal endeavor. It’s one thing to write that; it’s another thing to watch it work in the lives of real people. (The test of true theology is always in the fruit.)

Besides writing for the Musings blog (which is, of course, my primary occupation), I am privileged to serve a missional church plant in the heart of America. Cindy is one of the women in our community who’s far enough along in life to have her school debt paid off. Some recent teaching about heart idolatry got her thinking (and writing) about how living in light of the gospel is a “community project.” Here are her thoughts:

Although I could probably make a lengthy list of all of the idols I observe my brothers and sisters worshipping, I think I’ll pass in the interest of the giant log hanging out of my own eye.

Spiritual Transformation is currently a focus of my church life, my family life and my personal life. I am a fairly introspective person; inner dialogue with God and meditation on the Word come naturally to me. I am accustomed to seeking out my idols privately – and keeping them that way! It is a very vulnerable feeling to be new in a body of believers who are dedicated to honestly exploring what hinders my spiritual growth. It is also crushingly beautiful to witness the GRACE of God in the empathy, acceptance and love seen in the eyes of His people and felt in the loving embrace of their arms. I am falling in love with the Body of Christ in a way that is difficult to describe but wonderful to experience.

At first I thought I was getting a handle on sins by naming them: anxiety, crabbiness, “struggling with juggling”, perfectionism, business, tardiness, critical thoughts and jealousy. Then I would confess, confess, and confess (privately of course). The next day I would start all over again – very tiring and very boring and very discouraging.

Because of our Lord’s unending love and faithful provision, He uncovered this huge idol – firmly established, fat, and arrogantly demanding that I bow down. I could call it fear or doubt, but that still is not really quite accurate. Those two only led me to the big one: pride. I am an approval addict and willingly find gratification in it instead of in Jesus. I confess that I found in myself a core of mistrust and unbelief, as I stand under the cross looking into the face of a dying Jesus. “O what a wretched man that I am…” (Rom. 7:24).

After some twenty-odd years of Spirit filled living, I am learning that putting away the idols we find in the Body of Christ is a community project which starts with an individual choice. I do not doubt that the Lord will win out in this struggle of mine. His grace is all the world to me.

Living Words

by Bob Thune

I use a lot of words, every day. Talking is my business. But a soft-spoken friend of mine said to me tonight in one sentence more than I have said to anyone all year.

My friend James is a hockey superstar. He was drafted out of college by the Philadelphia Flyers and pretty much had an NHL career in the bag until concussions began to take their toll. For medical reasons, the Flyers chose not to resign him for a second season. I think he would say that was the saddest moment of his life. It was the end of a dream that had carried him since childhood.

Tonight, James and I were sitting around in my basement with some other guys. I was asking them to tell their stories - stories of hope and brokenness and where they have experienced grace. James' story became the gospel to me tonight.

He told it differently than I've heard him tell it before. The part that was different was when he said: "What I've learned through Bob in the past three years is worth more to me than any contract I could have signed."

I know how much James could have made in the NHL, and I'm pretty sure my influence isn't worth quite that much. But James wasn't kidding. And his words were life to my soul. I know that not a day goes by when he doesn't dream of being on the ice. And yet he says the ways God has used me in his life are worth the cost of that dream.

Jesus said, "What will a man give in exchange for his soul?" Perhaps the benefit to the soul that comes from gospel-centered community really is worth more than all the riches in the world. James made me believe that tonight. And for a minister who wonders every day whether it really matters... those are living words.

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue," Proverbs says. Tonight, I actually believe it. What I say - and what others say to me - is much more significant than I realize.

Learning Community

by Bob Thune

I had to do a small group intervention in our church today.

You know what I'm talking about. Maybe you've been in one of these groups before. Seven awesome, godly people. Not a single one of them that you'd have a problem with. But for some reason, when they got together, they fell into that stale awkwardness of a first date: playing it close to the vest, offering honesty only when it's a sure bet, always jockeying to see if the feeling is mutual or if a second date would be suicide. The consensus opinion was that the group just flat out sucked.

As we sat down to talk it out and try to move toward healthy community, we made some interesting observations. I'm wondering if you've noticed these same trends in your faith community. Since Will and Brett and DT and I just got done writing a book on community (see sidebar), this blog seemed like a good place to hash this stuff out. I'm not usually the one to think out loud, but what can I say: I'm trying to apply what Brett wrote in the book.

Observation 1: It's hard to create community that's both intentional and natural. The problem with natural community (your chosen friends, those people you'd hang out with anyway) is that it's rarely intentional. For some reason, a good game of Ving-Pong doesn't mix with a heavy conversation about where Satan is lying to you right now. The problem with intentional community (the kind that's forced, i.e. evangelical small groups) is that it doesn't feel natural. Doing a Bible study together creates purposeful community, but since it was formed for a purpose, it has a very unnatural feel. (Which is another way of saying that Bible studies rarely break into spontaneous Ving-Pong games; apologies to readers who have not experienced the sporting frenzy that is Ving.)

Observation 2: Christians seem to be the only people who have trouble being honest. We all agreed that our worldly friends generally say what they really think, and they don't mind if people know how screwed up their lives are. Christians, on the other hand, have painful problems with honesty in groups. We excuse this by saying that our community isn't "deep enough" yet, or that it takes time to build trust, or that it wouldn't be "edifying" to share what's really going on. But we agreed that all these excuses are basically ways to mask our heart-idols. The truth is, we want to be seen as people who have it all together; or we don't want to be accountable for really changing; or we are deathly afraid of losing the approval of our peers. If we were really living in light of the gospel and finding our identity and worth and value in Jesus, wouldn't we be at least as honest as our unbelieving friends?

Observation 3: True community should be pastoral. At one point, my friend Scott was talking about how he needs a high level of relationship with people before he gets spiritually honest with them. I stirred the pot by asking this question: "How come none of you applies that logic to your relationship with me?" Judging from their blank stares, I could tell no one was following me. "Here's the thing," I said. "I'm your pastor. When you're really struggling spiritually, you don't sit around wondering if we've 'hung out' enough for you to really lay the heavy stuff on me. You just call me up and tell me what's going on in your soul! Because I'm your pastor, and you expect spiritual ministry from me. So why aren't you expecting that from each other?" They thought that was a pretty good point. Unless we expect pastoral ministry from the body of believers around us (and are ready to give it ourselves), we're not living a biblical vision of community.

All this gospel-centered community stuff would be so much easier if it "just happened," the way sitting around on the couch does.

Speaking for God

by David Thompson

In all my years of attending and planning retreats and conferences, there were a few constants you could count on. The plan for the retreat would always include a time set aside to get alone and hear from God. The actual retreat would always include a talk running long, an extra announcement, and the decision to make up the time by cutting the time alone with God. It happened every time.

The low point of this routine occurred at a retreat for college seniors making decisions on full time ministry. We wanted to design a different kind of retreat, one where the students had plenty of time to hear from God and discern His will for their lives. To facilitate this we moved the retreat from a hotel to nice retreat center in the woods. We planned extended time after each talk for students to spend time alone with God. We scheduled a talk on knowing God’s will to give some direction in how to discern God’s will. We really wanted them to hear from God.

Before we arrived someone cut the multiple times of reflection down to one. The knowing God’s will talk went twice as long as scheduled and an extra announcement had to be made. So at our retreat, where we really wanted students to hear from God, we did what we always did - we cut the time scheduled to sit alone before God down to almost nothing. I hope God was impressed with our talk on knowing His will.

If God still speaks, why do we talk so much?

We have His Word, yet fill the air with our words. I suspect it’s because we don’t trust God to say what we want Him to say and so we say it for Him, just to make sure He gets it right.

I recently experienced an insightful contrast by taking part in a silent retreat with a group of men in a discipleship program. A couple of us shared short devotions during the time, but other than that, no talking. As a leader I arrived early to set up, only there was no set up. No sound checks for the band, no wondering why the first night testimony was late, no lame skit practice. I was feeling pretty insignificant.

At first it was uncomfortable. Like a noise addict in withdrawal I found myself lusting for sports talk radio. But after awhile my heart opened and I said things to God that needed to be said and He said things to me that needed to be heard. At the end of the weekend guys shared one word descriptions of the time. Honestly, with me not controlling the vast majority of the content, I wondered how much would be accomplished. The guys shared words like cleansing, renewing, convicting, refreshing, forgiving. It was powerful.

Even though we didn’t talk, I felt a certain bond with these guys. We had experienced God. And I felt refreshed, even energized, not the way I ever felt, even after the best conference.

Conferences with the great speaker and the great worship band have their place and God even speaks through them, but I recommend adding a retreat where the only speaker is God, and I’m left to trust that God will say what needs to be said without my commentary.

Taking a Fastball

by Bob Thune

Last night, Denise pitched me a fastball down the middle: “What if, no matter how good we are, it’s still not good enough to get us into heaven?”

We were sitting out on the patio at Crane Coffee, Tony and Jennifer and Derrick and Denise and me. We had just read the first chapter of John out loud, and we were talking about stuff like heaven and hell and God and Jesus and all the problems in the world. Derrick and I are the only ones who love Jesus. The others might love him, too, if it weren’t for how much they’ve been offended by Christians. 

I’ve been trained in evangelism since high school. It’s been a lot like batting practice. After looking at enough pitches, and taking enough swings, you just know what to do. There is a standard answer to Denise’s question. It’s a great segue into the message of the gospel: We aren’t good enough. Jesus was. He has done it all for us. Trust in him makes his obedience our own and turns away the wrath of God on our behalf.

But I didn’t say any of those things to Denise. I chose to let her pitch go by.

I think my decision would make some of my evangelical friends nervous. “What? You had someone ask you that question, and you didn’t give them the answer?” Certainly if we’re about counting statistics or measuring our worth before God by the number of times we swing the bat, then I hurt my average last night. But if we’re about loving people the way Jesus would love them, I’m not sure it’s that simple.

Jesus didn’t just say things people needed to hear; he said them at certain times, and in certain ways, with an artistic eloquence that was unsurpassed. He spoke of living water and bread from heaven and true light that dispels darkness. What’s fascinating about Jesus isn’t that he swung the bat. It’s the art and beauty and timing of his swing.

A wise author once convinced me that evangelism is both art and science. Most of us have the science part down pat. And that’s exactly why the watching world is tired of hearing what we have to say. They’ve heard us say the same things, artlessly, mechanistically, formulaically, and the stuff we’re selling just doesn’t resonate with what they intuitively know of the complexity and love and grace and beauty of the Creator.

Players who swing at every pitch rarely make it to the big leagues. Players who know when to take a pitch, and when to pull a pitch, and when to bunt, and when to swing for the fence, and when to lean in and take one for the team – those are the players who make a difference. I’m trying, by God’s grace, to become that kind of player. Not because swinging the bat would be wrong; but because Denise’s soul is infinitely more important than my batting average.

The Best Movie I've Never Seen - You'll Love It!

by David Thompson

I just found a new favorite movie in the newspaper. Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill tells the story of a man who fails as a singer but eventually finds himself through his relationship with a flock of parrots. It sounds like a story of fall and redemption to me. It’s fantastic. You really ought to make it your favorite movie also.

Odd to make a movie I’ve never seen my favorite movie? Of course. But sometimes I feel like I’m asking something similar of people when I share the story of Jesus in four points and a prayer and ask them to agree that Jesus is the most amazing person they’ve ever met and decide to follow Him.

I didn’t think so much about this when I was content to share my outline of the Bible with you so that you too would understand the basic propositions of the gospel and agree with those propositions when you saw how much sense they made. But now I want more.

I want people to fall in love with Jesus. I don’t mean in some romantic fluffy kind of way, but in a passionate, devoted kind of way. I want them to know, really know, that the One they’ve longed for and searched for without knowing what they were looking for – His name is Jesus and He’s alive!

I’m fine with gospel tracts. Like a climatic scene from a favorite movie, they give a glimpse of the beauty of God and His work. They also provide a review that might entice someone to see the movie. But they’re not the movie. For people to love the movie, they’re going to have to see it.

Language is Relative

by Bob Thune

Last weekend I went out with my buddy Aaron. He isn’t a follower of Jesus, and he’s happy saying so. Actually, that’s why we’re friends. I first met Aaron a couple years ago but hadn’t spoken with him in a long time. Last month I called him and said, “Hey, listen, I hang out with way too many church people. I need to hang out with some people who aren’t church people, and who aren’t afraid to say so. So let’s hang out.” He obliged. We went to hear a local band and chat about life.

It was a fascinating conversation, really. It’s amazing what people will talk about when you shut up and listen. Aaron started telling me all his hang-ups with church. Here’s how he described it to me:

“Churches are really into believing in Jesus. And somehow they can always tell that I’m not into that. Don’t get me wrong – I think Jesus is awesome. He lived a really selfless, amazing life. But I’m not a religious person. And church people can usually tell that, and they start talking to me like an outsider. They tell me that I need to believe in Jesus, and that if I don’t I’ll go to hell. But I just don’t see the point. It’s not that I have a problem with Jesus; I have a problem with Christians. To be honest: I think I live a better life than most of them. But they’re not interested in what I do; they’re only interested in whether I’m a ‘believer’ or not. But what good is it to believe if it doesn’t change how you live?”

In the course of this conversation, I realized that language is relative. And if you don’t realize that, you’ll never be able to have a God-honoring, honest conversation with someone who isn’t following Jesus.

Let me explain what I mean. If you’re reading this as an American evangelical, you’ve probably identified some errors in Aaron’s thinking. His Christology is off (he sees Jesus as a good person, but not divine). His anthropology is warped (he doesn’t grasp total depravity). His view of God’s holiness is nonexistent (he’s rationalized his unbelief by comparing his life to other humans instead of to God’s divine standard). The problem is, none of that matters.

Many well-meaning Christians would try to convince Aaron of his wrong thinking. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. In fact, I’m praying for the opportunity to talk more about his views of God. The problem is that the language Aaron has heard to describe faith in Jesus has left a bad taste in his mouth. And so that language, whether correct or not, won’t communicate anything useful to him.

The main example in this case is the phrase “believe in Jesus.” This is a biblical phrase. I think it beautifully and aptly describes the essence of faith in Christ. But to Aaron, it creates an insider-outsider dichotomy. He knows he is not a ‘believer.’ He thinks that all Christians really care about is being in the category ‘believer’, which in his mind has a lot more to do with religion than with the values of Jesus. So the word “believe,” no matter how biblical, just isn’t going to communicate much to him.

After discerning this reality, I chose to use the word ‘follower’ instead. “Aaron, I agree with you: there are lots of people in churches who aren’t living out the life Jesus intended. That’s why I don’t really like to talk about believing vs. not believing. I think what Jesus really wants is for people to follow him [take note, reader: following is an inclusive category, not an exclusive one]. Following him means deciding that he is the ultimate example, and choosing to live life the way he taught [which, of course, will ultimately include believing in Him and trusting him alone for eternal life and staking my life on the authority of Scripture].”

Aaron’s response was, “Yeah! That’s cool! Jesus is just the kind of person I think I’d want to follow.”

Like I said, language is relative.

Honesty, Part 3

by Bob Thune

Critiques of my writing on honesty (see parts one and two) have fallen into a fairly predictable pattern. The common response is that because we are all sinful, saying what we actually think is not necessarily edifying or helpful. One critic wrote, “If I have wrong thoughts about somebody it is MY job to deal with that.” Another suggests, “If I have a sinful or prideful heart or thought toward a fellow Christian, it may not be prudent to tell them. What is prudent is to fall on my knees before God, confess that pride, and repent… [and to] go to someone more wise and mature than myself and seek their guidance and their discipline.”

In one sense, I appreciate these comments. In another sense, I think they are poison to the soul. I realize that’s a strong statement. So let me first affirm the good, and then I’ll seek to neutralize the poison. (By the way, don't equate vivid language with personal rancor. This is a blog site. Comments make it fun, and I intend no personal attack against these fine people!)

On the one hand, the commenters make an important point. They have urged wisdom and discernment as a counterbalance to radical honesty. This is good and right and biblical. The Bible certainly pulls no punches about the power of the tongue: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.”

But on the other hand, as Will observed in one of his comments: “Most of us are not anywhere close to honest in the areas that we should be. We err on the side of dishonesty most of the time…” This is the truth. And I am a writer. And the job of a writer is to state things provocatively for impact. So I have made a case for radical honesty as a corrective to the radical dishonesty that defines us. It is not that I am unaware of the Proverbs or blind to the need for discernment and love and wisdom. It’s just that I think we’ve embraced the parts of the Bible that are easy for us and left the harder parts alone.

What is problematic in these commenters’ words is the suggestion that my sin is best dealt with between me and God. This point of view sees community as non-essential to sanctification. It treats the body of Christ as a gathering of the healed, not a fellowship of the broken. It suggests that sin can be conquered by introspection and personal struggle. These notions are not biblical. But they are a natural side-effect of the individualistic, “me and Jesus” gospel that we’ve been preaching for the last few decades.

I’m convinced that a piece of Scripture we need to hear again is 1 John 1:5-7: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.

It is verse 7 which shreds our notions regarding honesty and dishonesty and sin and community. If we walk in the light – that is, in honesty and truth – THEN we have fellowship with one another. In other words, gospel-driven honesty creates community. But notice what comes next: “the blood of Jesus purifies us from all sin.” Even in our fellowship with one another, we need Christ’s blood to purify us from sin! Fellowship is not something I experience AFTER me and Jesus deal with my sin. It’s something I experience in the midst of my sin. It helps to show me my need for cleansing. As I’m walking in honesty (light), I experience community, and that community drives me to Christ for purification.

Jesus always intended our sin to be dealt with in community. To say, “It’s my sin, I need to deal with it,” is to suggest that God will give me the end (victory over sin) apart from the means (gospel-centered community). Au contraire: “Confess your sins to each other, and pray for each other, so that you may be healed" (James 5:16).

A well-meaning commenter tried to find a middle ground here by suggesting that every Christian have an “accountability group” who really know about his sin (i.e. his actual life). The problem is that this simply keeps me in the driver’s seat. I can choose who I want to let in and who I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem that got us here in the first place. But I’ll tackle again that in another post.

To quote Will again, “Radical honesty is not a one-time purge, but a way of life that is navigated through the waters of success and failure over time.” That’s the truth. So let’s take the plunge.

(Read some past musings on related issues here and here)