The Scandal of the Gospel

“The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.” --Tim Keller

The love of God is a scandal.

It is so scandalous, that we have to tame it. We rarely see God's love for the raw, unbridled, passion that it is--because it's so crazy huge, it makes us uncomfortable. Instead, we pick and choose the images of God's love that are palatable: Children on Jesus' lap, the Father embracing the prodigal son, the mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings.

But often God uses the imagery of a romantic lover to describe His love for us. Back to Ezekiel 16:

8 “Then I passed by you and saw you, and behold, you were at the time for love; so I spread My skirt over you and covered your nakedness. I also swore to you and entered into a covenant with you so that you became Mine,” declares the Lord God. 9 “Then I bathed you with water, washed off your blood from you and anointed you with oil."

 God claims us as His bride,...covers us with His love,.. and then he cleans us up. Resist the urge to gloss over the beauty (and akwardness) of these images. This is how God loves.

We would do it the other way around! We would want someone to get their act together, to clean themselves up before we showered our love on them. We might be willing to help with the process, but we certainly would want to see some sign of goodness, or righteousness, or beauty BEFORE we showered another with our love.

Not God.

He covers our nakedness.

He promises His faithfulness.

He makes us His own.

And then, with gentleness, he bathes us.

This isn't the angry scrub-brush type of bath that a mother gives to a wayward child. This is the soft caress of a wash-cloth in the hand of a tender lover.

This is how God loves us.

And we can' take it! Ezekiel goes on to describe how the beautiful bride becomes a whore. She takes all the gifts that God has bestowed upon her, and she uses them to attract other lovers. Rather than being deeply satisfied, she rejects His love.

How could she? How dare she?

And yet, I, too, am guilty.

The problem, I think, is this: When I fail to receive the love of God for the passionate, jealous, intense love that it is, I will look for love in other places. When I diminish God's love to a grandfatherly pat on the head, it will never satisfy my deepest yearnings.

But when I learn to receive this hurricaine of God's love, it changes everything.

God loves so deeply, so purely, so perfectly, that His love not only fills my every longing, but it overflows from me onto a lost and hurting world. It is more than I can contain, and so I spread it around liberally...and in so doing, I enter into the scandal myself.

Yes, I'm learning to love scandalously.

When was the last time you poured out love on someone so undeserving that those around you questioned your judgement? When was the last time you gave so generously that your accountant accused you of being reckless? Have you ever had a house guest that made your neighbors worry about the safety of your children?

We are the objects of a scandalous love. And when we finally get that, we are transformed into scandalous lovers ourselves.

THIS is the Gospel.

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He Saved Me

Ezekiel 16 is not exactly a G-rated chapter of the Bible. In fact, it's rather scandalous. But for some reason, I find myself drawn to it. I'm both inspired and repulsed by the images. I'm both challenged and comforted by the message. It reveals something of God that I think I've watered-down.

I'm starting to realize that we might not actually like God as He really is, so we clean Him up for church. We pick and choose the images of God we want to keep, and we ignore the rest.

Gentle Shepherd--Good! Keep it. Paint it. Hang it in the nursery!

Jealous Lover--Bad! Skip over those verses.

Faithful Father--Good! Use it. Sing it. Write books about it!

Angry Ruler--Questionable. Keep it in the Old Testament. Gloss over it.

Just Judge--Good! Preach it. Exegite it! Use it to evangelize!

Proponent of Social Justice--Sketchy! Too focused on the world. We care more about saving souls.

And while it's a struggle to understand what God says about Himself, it's almost impossible to accept what God says to be true about US. About ME. The tuth is too shocking, too harsh, too raw, so we sugar-coat it to make it more palatable. And again, we pick and choose the images.

Lost sheep--Good! Sweet and fluffy. Poor thing just wandered off. He couldn't really help it.

Cheap Whore--Yeah, that's not so pretty. Let's not talk about that one.

Salt of the Earth--Good! Yes, we are change agents, we add spice, we purify the earth. Yea, us!

Enemies of God--Well, that seems a bit harsh...

Children of God--Good! I like it. One, big, happy, family.

Wretches--I'm not sure that's fair. I'm not perfect, but I'm no wretch!

Ezekiel 16 begins with Jerusalem being represented as an abandoned baby:

4 As for your birth, on the day you were born your navel cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water for cleansing; you were not rubbed with salt or even wrapped in cloths. 5 No eye looked with pity on you to do any of these things for you, to have compassion on you. Rather you were thrown out into the open field, for you were abhorred on the day you were born.

Last year in my Old Testament class I learned that the ancient Hebrew custom was that a baby was not considered "alive" until the father chose to adopt it. If the father rejected a baby, the baby could be left in an open field to die. So the Lord is telling Jerusalem that it was not even considered worthy of life from its very birth. But then he goes on to say this:

6 “When I passed by you and saw you squirming in your blood, I said to you while you were in your blood, ‘Live!’ Yes, I said to you while you were in your blood, ‘Live!’" 

God, in this admonition to "live" has adopted Jerusalem. The baby does nothing to earn this right of life. The baby is a mess. "Abhorred." Squirming in its own blood. Until God gives it life.

God bends down. God has compassion. God shows mercy. God loves and cares for the unwanted child. God bestows every possible blessing. And still, God is rejected.

This is the human condition. This is the reality of our corruption. Our sinfulness is not something that we do every now and then, it's not a blemish on our skin. Our sinfulness is woven through our nature, apart from Christ it is the essence of who we are.

When we don't get that--when we don't grasp the depths of our depravity, we miss out on being able to appreciate the enormity of the grace that we have been given. We love when Paul talks about being transformed from "glory to glory." We forget that John wrote about receiving from Christ "grace upon grace."

Over and over we are told not to forget who we were before we met Jesus. What we are apart from grace. And this rememberence is not meant to shame us. It is meant to hold us. To hold us in that place of awe for the God who stooped down "while we were in our blood"..."while we were yet sinners." For the one who clothed us in His righteousness, because even our very best is like "filthy rags."

The fact is, we want to be worthy. I want to be worthy. I want to be a child of God because I'm lovable. Because I'm cute. Because I'm good. I don't want to think of myself as a discarded baby. I want to think of myself as somehow, in at least some small way, worth being saved. Can't I please play some part in my own salvation?

Does the bloody baby play a role?

When I was replete with sin, as I lay squirming in my own blood, I still bore the image of God. God has graced humanity with His image, and by giving us His own reflection, He placed in each human being an innate worthiness. A worthiness rooted in Himself.

So while I don't play a role in my own salvation, I know that He deems me worthy. So worthy that He sent His only son. In Jesus, the father says, "Live!"

And with that Word of Life, I am recreated. The old, bloody baby is gone, the new has come. But as I live into that reality of who I am in Christ, I stand in awe of the one who rescued me from certain death. Not by works of righteouness that I have done, but according to His mercy, He has saved me.

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Festival of Lights

Last night was supposed to be the kick-off of the Fête des Lumières (Festival of Lights) in Lyon, an annual five-day celebration of the Virgin Mary, who--according to local legend, saved the people of Lyon from the plague in 1643. Mary is greatly esteemed--venerated--worshiped in Lyon. I have already gotten into deep conversations with people about Mary--she seems much more popular than Jesus in this city. But contrary to popular belief, Mary can't save them.

Following the Paris terrorist attacks, all of France has been on high alert. Therefore, for security reasons, the festival of lights was reduced to a one night event. High on the plateau above our apartment, the words #Merci Marie (Thank You, Mary with a hashtag!) were glowing in blue lights next to the Notre Dame Basilica.

The town also sought to honor the fallen victims of the Paris attack by inviting residents to place candles in their windows as a sign of solidarity. This gave a lovely glow to each building. In the photo they look like Christmas lights, but those are all actually candles.

David and Chandler and I went out to wander our neighborhood--which hosts the Festival of Lights. Food vendors and musicians were out in full force! We treated ourselves to hot spiced wine and (for the first time in our lives!) roasted chestnuts!

A band played outside of our window until midnight--it's a good thing we enjoy being in the heart of the action.

A coalition of local churches came together to hand out free Bibles in the neighborhood during the festivities. Each Bible contained a flyer for an outreach event that our church plant is hosting in January. Please pray that those who took Bibles would have their hearts and their minds opened to the Gospel. Pray that they would join us on January 29th to learn more about Jesus and his love for the world.

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I'm the Problem

Another shooting. Another tragedy. And from what I can observe, those who have national level platforms are not turning towards each other in desperation, aching to find a solution. Instead they've quickly set up their camps and and have started lobbing bombs of their own.

And we wonder why there is so much violence?

When will we finally turn towards? When will we stop pointing fingers and blaming? Where are the leaders that refuse to accuse everyone else of causing the problem? Where are the ones who will finally stand up and say, "I'm the problem! It's my fault!"

Where are the Daniels and Nehemiahs? Who will tear their clothes in repentance, confessing their sins and the sins of the nation?

No one?

Really?

As long as we see the problem as "out there" instead of "in here," we will not find peace.

Years ago the London Times ran an essay contest where they asked people to respond to the question, "What's Wrong With the World?" The great theologian G. K. Chesterton wrote this famous response:

Dear Sir,

I am.

Yours,
G. K. Chesterton

I see many Christians postulating that the problem is that our country has turned its back on God, that we as a nation have turned away from him. I think that still makes it someone else's problem. With this approach the Christian takes exception--everyone else, the worldly, humanistic Americans are at fault. This is far from the humble reply of Chesterton, who owned the sickness himself.

The great leader Nehemiah, when he hears that Jerusalem lies in ruin, doesn't point fingers and say, "Why can't those Israelites get it together?" No. He counts himself among the guilty, praying, "I confess the sins we Israelites, including myself and my father's family, have committed against you."

Including myself. Nehemiah wasn't even living in Jerusalem at the time, and yet, he counted himself among the guilty.

Church, this is not the time to stand up and point fingers. Praying for our country IS a valuable thing. But God has been clear since the beginning of time that faith without works is dead. Nehemiah prayed, and then he went to Jerusalem to build a wall. What else will we do?

Psalm 34:14 says to "seek peace and pursue it."

Hint: Neither insisting on the importance of gun rights nor proclaiming the need for greater gun control are means of seeking peace and pursuing it. They are exactly the opposite. When we cannot humble ourselves enough to come together to find a solution we are not seeking peace, we are prolonging violence.

The old hymn says, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."

Who will be bold enough to question their own stance? Who will dare to imagine that their current point of view might be flawed? Who might be creative enough to imagine that the solution is beyond the current set of proposed possibilities? Who is courageous enough to turn towards those who have an opposing view and listen, not with the intent to refute, but with the desire to learn?  If we all continue to believe that our current way of thinking is holy, right, and good, then we will, each one, miss the conviction of the Holy Spirit that might reveal where we are wrong. And we are wrong. Every one of us.

What is wrong with the world?

I am.

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Beautiful

I had just spent a lovely afternoon with my friend and after praying together, I walked her to the metro to catch her train back home. As we stood outside the station saying our goodbyes, an older, obviously inebriated man stumbled over to us.

Parenthetically: I DO live in the middle of a pretty big city. I have regular encounters with addicts, homeless people, and beggars. Earlier that same afternoon my friend and I had given a few bucks to a young, injured musician. He was from eastern Europe, didn't speak any French, only a little English, and he told us that because of his broken arm he was unable to play his guitar, which is why he was begging on the street. He simply said, "I have two choices, steal or beg, and I'm not a thief." I wished I could've taken the poor guy home with me, but I knew that wasn't the answer. So we each gave him a little spare change, hoping it would at least add up to a warm meal. I'm just telling you this so that you know that while I clearly can't meet every need I see on the street, I try to stay open to the possibility that God might be leading me to help some from time to time.

But when the older drunk guy headed for us, I inwardly rolled my eyes. I was trying to savor my last few minutes with a friend, I didn't want to be interrupted, and I had no more loose change on me. I avoided making eye contact and hoped he would stagger in a different direction.

He didn't.

He came right up into our personal space, such that both my friend and I instinctively took a subtle half-step backwards as we inhaled the scent of stale beer. "What does he want?" I thought, annoyed. He simply looked at us and said, "Vous êtes belles." You're beautiful. I was suspicious of his motives, but my friend smiled sweetly and said, "Merci !" Thank you. And he walked away.

My friend parted, and I quickly forgot the whole encounter. Two hours later David and I headed to evening prayer. Our pastor was there with his wife and two young children. We shared about our days and thanked God for the ways and places that we had seen His hand at work among us. I mentioned my time with my friend. I didn't mention the drunk guy.

After praying, David and I got up to leave. But I was stopped by Alicia, our pastor's 4-old daughter who ran up to me and hugged my knees. I stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. Then she reached up towards me and I instinctively bowed down. She gently stroked my face twice and said, "Tu es belle." You're beautiful.

It was the second time in the span of a few hours that I had heard those words, and the coincidence did not escape my notice.

Only my response to the two encounters was completely different. I felt invaded by one, but envelopped by the other. I stepped away from one, but moved toward the other. I was deeply suspicious of one, but fully trusting of the other. I was annoyed by one interruption, but charmed by the other. And yet, in the end, neither needed or wanted anything from me. Both the old man and the young child offered blessing. One came in a package I rejected, the other in a package I received.

It makes me think of how often Jesus welcomed the love of the unlovely. Both outcasts and small children were invited into his personal space. He never took a half-step back. Jesus moves towards.

I want to be like him.

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Blogging about Blogging

There was a time when I would blog three to four times a week. Blogging is like breathing for me--it is that place where I process and wrestle with deep thoughts, where I confess and expose my struggles with life and faith, where I laugh at myself and marvel at God and muse at the intermingling of the two. Honestly, friends, I don't do it for you. I do it for me. I have never thought of my blog as a ministry to others. I've always seen it as therapy for myself. I count it as a luxury of sorts--a hobby. Something I GET to do, not something I HAVE to do.

So when I started Seminary over a year a ago and suddenly found myself with (GASP) assigned reading and writing, the blog got put on the on back burner. After all, no one grades my blog and it certainly isn't earning me any scholarships, salary, or fame. I've gotten to the point where instead of blogging three to four times a week, I'm blogging three to four times a month. And  I guess I thought it didn't matter, because, you know, I do it for myself. Only a few weeks ago I realized something. Blogging is like breathing for me--and I'm suffocating.

Still, I continued to ignore it. Where was the time? Everything else took priority. I knew I needed to write because the knots in my head and my heart were getting bigger and tighter, and writing is my only means of unraveling them. But the pressures of daily living are unrelenting, and my plate is as full of most of yours will be today as you feast on turkey and dressing. The ministries on my plate are appealing and delightful and I want to have them all. But it turns out that eating--no matter how delicious the food--is not all that satisfying when one can't breathe.

All of the ministries that I love are starting to lose their flavor because I am not breathing between bites. Blogging is like breathing for me. Why would I ignore breathing? Because I had fully convinced myself that blogging--like breathing--is entirely self-serving. And I translated that to mean selfish, expendable, or superfluous. But I don't think of breathing like that. Somehow, breathing (though self-serving) is worthy of my time. In fact, I can't not do it.

And so it seems that the only healthy thing to do is to blog more regularly. To breathe. Which I intend to do.

But if I'm being totally honest (which, you know, I usually am) I'd have to admit that it was a note from a stranger that woke me up and reminded me to breathe. A young woman sent me a message through Facebook that I almost didn't see because she wasn't my friend, and messages from strangers on Facebook don't go into one's regular inbox. Having done a "marathon read" of my blog, she shared with me how my writing had ministered to her. And it was as if God wanted to remind me that even though I write for me (and that's okay! He wants me to breathe)--He can use it (wants to use it?) to speak to others as well.

Before I started blogging, I journaled. Fact: if the writing were really meant just for me, then journaling would be the right medium. Yet, somehow I sense that my words are meant to be shared. I like sharing them. I need to share them. I can't not do it.

So for the past year this poor little blog has been on life-support, limping along, winded and weak. But today there is a fresh wind blowing.

Yes, I'm breathing again. And I like it. 

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About that...

There is this great story in the Gospel of Luke when the disciples are traveling with Jesus to Jerusalem. It is getting dark, and Jesus sends a few of them ahead to a Samaritan village where they plan to spend the night. But it turns out the Samaritans didn't want to play host to Jesus. The Bible tells us, "the people there did not welcome him."

The disciples are angry, indignant, and self-righteous at this turn of events. They even offer to "call down fire from heaven to destroy them." The disciples feel threatened by the Samaritan's rejection, but Jesus? Not so much. In fact, Jesus is more bothered by his disciples' response to the rejection. The disciples want to rebuke the Samaritans, but Jesus rebukes his disciples.

You see, Jesus never expected the world to love and accept him. Rejection doesn't surprise him. It doesn't even offend him. It's us who take offense. And in our offense, we often sin. We miss the mark. We miss the point.

Do you get where I'm going with this? Yes, I'm talking about the stupid cups. And all of the other things over which American Christians will agonize in the coming months. In trying to make Jesus the point of the season, how very often we miss the point ourselves. 

We have got to stop acting offended or surprised when earthly powers, businesses, and governments don't welcome Jesus. Heck, he was born in a barn to show us that he was going to be an outsider from the get-go! It's not our job to make the world love him. It's our job to love a world that hates him. It's not our job to call down fire from heaven every time we think that Jesus has been forced out of the picture. It's our job to offer grace and mercy to bring Jesus back into the picture.

Think before you post, people. Ask yourself, "Am I calling down fire from heaven?" And if you are, remember how Jesus responded to his disciples when they did the exact same thing. 

 When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” But Jesus turned and rebuked them.

Luke 9: 54-55

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