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| Photo by Kadarius Seegars on Unsplash |
Over the summer, in a loose-knit series of blog posts, I explored
the concept of unity and disunity in our society and how we as the church
should be committed to tearing down the walls that we allow to divide us so
that we can better represent as the body of Christ on earth. Some of this
disunity is tied to the literal building and tearing down of walls and the
movements of ethnic peoples from one land to another, and some of the disunity
is because of our own pride and sense of entitlement.
Starting with Some Elbow
Room? (7/15/14) I asked questions like, “Why
do we always seem to push others out when
we move in (whoever the “we”
may be)? Why do we spend so much energy "clearing the land" to build
our own kingdoms?” and encouraged Christian congregations to stop competing
with each other as well as trying to be self-sufficient and start working
together. I concluded that post with the challenge,
If
we need to be moving someone, let it be moving ourselves closer to each other
relationally, linking arms and hearts, keeping in step with the Spirit rather
than the flesh (Gal. 5). Listen to one another, pray with one another, and be
friends with one another. Then we may see God move in gentle power in our
midst... and have to move out into the yard because the house isn't big enough
for everyone.
I followed that with Dust
in the Wind: The Ever-Changing Dance (7/22/14) in which I talked about the fascinating
way that ethnic populations have always been moving and shifting, not as a way
to excuse the gentrification of traditionally non-white urban communities, but
as an encouragement for us to consider how our policies and actions affect
others. Though this shift is unavoidable we should not force it on others.
“Sudden heavy-handed shifts in
demographics can either bury the existing community under the weight of new
arrivals (think our current crisis on the Southern Border) or scatter that
community to the wind (think N & NE Portland)…
The question facing us is how to
respond. Will we embrace the shift and adapt to the new ministry opportunities that
the wind has delivered to our doorstep (or to whose doorstep we are delivered)?
Will we flee to new lands (California or Bust!) to begin again? Or like some
die-hard Dust-Bowlers will we simply live in the basement of what remains and
slowly watch our family die of dust pneumonia?
More recently I looked at how we view the “property lines”
in our own lives in Psalm
16:5-8 "Pleasant Places" (8/5/14). This passage alludes to the
tribal inheritances allocated in the Book of Joshua, but then applies the idea
of inheritance not to a place but to a person—the Lord himself. But out of
this story, we see our collective responsibility to help every “tribe” to gain
its inheritance.
“Who
has yet to receive a piece of the pie? Who has not been given a place at the
table? For such as these those of us who have access to economic and
educational resources should look for ways to leverage them not for our own
benefit, but for the benefit of those who don’t have the same options available
to them.”
So how do we do this? Trust God and do what he is doing. Our natural response is to take the
easy way rather than the hard one. The mission of God is greater than the
appearance of “the neighborhood”. Everything God does has a purpose and though
it might not be what we want, it is for the good. So do we lament what we see
and complain our days away or do lean in and listen more closely to the voice
of the Spirit? Do we run from the sound of suffering or do we run towards the
battle for the good of the oppressed?
Yesterday I wrote to my son that some of the imagery
in Isaiah 62 seemed a little like the rebuilding that must happen after a
terrorist attack.
Go through, go through the gates,
Clear the way for the people;
Build up, build up the highway,
Remove the stones, lift up a standard over the peoples.
Behold, the Lord has proclaimed to the end of the earth,
Say to the daughter of Zion, “Lo, your salvation comes;
Behold His reward is with Him, and His recompense before Him.” (Isaiah 62:10-11)
There was an attack, a disaster, a tragedy. I wonder if we are willing to move, coming alongside to help our new neighbors overwhelmed with the debris of a violently fallen world. Or would we rather use the
remote control to change over to the Cartoon Network?Clear the way for the people;
Build up, build up the highway,
Remove the stones, lift up a standard over the peoples.
Behold, the Lord has proclaimed to the end of the earth,
Say to the daughter of Zion, “Lo, your salvation comes;
Behold His reward is with Him, and His recompense before Him.” (Isaiah 62:10-11)
In the incarnation, Jesus chose the hard way of becoming
human to rescue us in accordance with the redemptive plan of God. The least we
can do is follow his lead going out from comfort, convenience, and status quo, to
take up the missional calling he has given to us.
So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to
sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside
the camp and bear the reproach he endured. For here we have no lasting city,
but we seek the city that is to come. Through him then let us continually offer
up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge
his name. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such
sacrifices are pleasing to God. (Hebrews 13:12-16)
Just because we “have no lasting city” here doesn’t mean
we can’t leave a lasting mark!
Great reminders, Greg. I especially love the idea of moving relationally rather than simply to establish space. That flies in the face of the current popular "save-the-city" missiology that sends prideful monument builders into unknown locales. Why not join an existing local church? Are they unwilling to be led by someone who does not look like them? This reminds me of what CS Lewis said about his local church,
ReplyDelete"When I first became a Christian, about fourteen years ago, I thought
that I could do it on my own, by retiring to my rooms and reading
theology, and I wouldn’t go to the churches and Gospel Halls; . . .
I disliked very much their hymns, which I considered to be fifth-rate
poems set to sixth-rate music. But as I went on I saw the great merit
of it. I came up against different people of quite different outlooks
and different education, and then gradually my conceit just began
peeling off. I realized that the hymns (which were just sixth-rate
music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit
by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then
you realize that you aren’t fit to clean those boots. It gets you out
of your solitary conceit."
Great thoughts an love the quote. My I aspire to clean boots
ReplyDeleteI liked the retrospective post as a way to pivot to new territory. It is always an interesting exercise to consider what legacy we wish to leave, and who we want to know about it! Indeed, if we minister with an attitude of "doing good to those who, in turn, can do good to us" we leave an entirely different mark on the world than if we follow our Savior's example. I will admit that my hubris often leads me to thinking of the recognition I'd like to receive from men, rather than the reward I hope to garner from our Heavenly Father. It's always good to check our motivations, and you set a good example by putting this reminder in front of us.
ReplyDeleteIn combining Ashley Bell’s most recent post (it can be found here: http://abell8330.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/in-the-beginning-there-was-unity/comment-page-1/#comment-48) with your question and answer, “So how do we do this? Trust God and do what he is doing.” I am reminded of how often my self-protective desire for isolation (ironically a result of abandonment issues) has to be corrected by willfully engaging in the lives of the community, and especially the eighty or so families that collectively support me as their pastor. Those who attend frequently get the blessing of having repeatedly heard me explain, “I don’t trust you. I don’t apologize for that, though. Because you shouldn’t trust me. We are human beings. In our fallen nature it is our habit to harm one another. As Christian, however, we choose to gather together in authentic, transparent, and vulnerable fellowship. Is this because we can somehow trust our fellow-Christians? No. At least I can’t. I can only choose to put myself at risk on the basis of my trust in Christ. His protection and provision are sufficient to encourage my obedience. That’s why I’m here. Because He said this is who I’m supposed to be, and what I’m supposed to do, together with all of you. But don’t think for a moment that I like it.” So far, they seem to catch a little of the tongue-in-cheek manner of the last sentence. But I think they also know how terrifyingly sincere I am about the rest of it. Thanks for the recap, Greg! Now, we’re on to Cincin…I mean, Diplomacy. (With no apologies to, nor much of an example from Bill Belichick. )
ReplyDelete