The Damage You Do

While reading John Alexander's book, I came across a note that I had written in the margin that said to "see notebook". So I pulled out my old notebook from that time period ('97-'98) and flipped through it looking for any comments I might have written. I'm not sure that I've found what I'm looking for yet, but in the meantime I came across a poem that reminded me of Meirav's recent ramblings on ketchup-removal.

The context of the poem was that someone I was rather close to was furiously, horribly, intensely upset with someone else. 

The Damage You Do

I'm not saying that I don't have blind spots, too.
I just want to express
 (to cry out before it devours you)
 that I see one of yours.
And I wouldn't bring it up,
  I wouldn't mention it
 except I see what it does to you
  and what it's doing to others.
And it makes me so incredibly sad
  so mortified that this has come to pass
that I want to come at you
  screaming
  and railing
  and pounding you
  ...until you see.
But screaming, railing & pounding
  only make the turtle
  disappear behind his armor.
So I know I must become gentle
  and patient, 
  an apt teacher. 
I need to mirror you to yourself
  in such a way
  that you will see with your own eyes
  the damage you do.
And I need to plead before God
  that he will unshutter your eyes
  and melt your heart
  and teach you once again
   of the depth and form of his forgiveness,
enabling you to forgive.

Truth or Lies - Where do our words come from?

I just started a book called War of Words, by Paul David Tripp. The gals in our church agreed to read it this summer and get together now and again to discuss it. Our first meeting is tomorrow morning, so I figured it was time to get reading.  

To be honest, I'm struggling with it, so far. (I'm only in the second chapter.) I'm not struggling with what he's saying so much as how he's saying it. He's making claims and failing explain or back most of them up. (His entire first chapter is devoted to how wonderful words and communication were in Genesis chapter 1, yet he doesn't refer in detail to any part of the chapter, nor does he quote from it. He does, on the other hand, include a long (3 page) quote from the book of Isaiah. In other words, he's saying things that he could pretty easily and quickly make a decent argument for, and he doesn't. I find that ridiculously distracting as I read.) 

But I finally hit an idea (as opposed to a writing style) that made me wonder. He claims that, "Every word we speak is rooted either in the truth or in a lie." (p. 23) What do you think of that? If I say that dinner's ready, and it's not actually on the table, nor even out of the oven, but I know that by the time everyone reaches the table it will be, does that mean my speech is rooted in a lie? Is it even helpful to think of statements like that in that light? Or what about my statements in the second paragraph of this post? Are they rooted either in a truth or a lie? Is it helpful to look at them in that light? 

It seems to me like this guy likes to make grand statements. He over emphasizes things in one direction or another in order to make his point. And yet, in talking about lying, does the fact that he over states himself mean that he's speaking from a position of lies rather than truth? Can you truthfully overstate truth? 

"Every word we speak is rooted either in the truth or in a lie." I don't think words are that simple. I don't think people, or most other things in our universe, are so clear cut. What do you think? 

(For those of you going, "Bu..bu..but what about absolutes? you might want to read this post.)

Achieving the Full Stature of Christ

In my last post I mentioned that the church should be, "a growing body of united believers achieving the full stature of Christ." This was in part taken from Ephesians 4:13 in the NRSV. 

In the NIV, and backing up to include verses 11 and 12, the passage reads:

It was he who gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, and some to be pastors and teachers, to prepare God's people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.

Other translations read:

"...unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ" -- KJV (... and several other translations read pretty much the same as this.)

"...measuring up to the full and complete standard of Christ." -- The New Living Translation

"We will receive everything that Christ has for us." -- New International Readers Version (Wow! This version reads quite differently than the rest.)

All of that simply to ask, what do you think that the "full stature of Christ" bit is all about? If we are to grow up into it, what are we growing up into? What does this look like? How do we know when it's happening? What do you think?

Are we playing the wrong game?

I came across John Alexander's last book when I was unpacking and I set it aside to read again. I started it ages ago and never finished it (partly because the urge to edit it was so strong that I had a hard time letting go of that and just focusing on the ideas. But now that Rob Bell has inured me to this writing style, I'm hoping I'll be able to focus a little better. Besides, now it reminds me of John and brings back pleasant memories more than it stirs up the editor within me.) 

John starts right smack in with the good stuff and just a few pages in I've hit stuff I already want to write about. John compares the church to a baseball team and explains that we don't expect our favorite team to always be perfect, but we do expect them to be playing baseball when they're on the field. In the same way, we shouldn't expect our church to be perfect (it is, after all, made up of imperfect people), but we should at least expect it to be a church, a growing body of united believers achieving the full stature of Christ.

This is something that I've often tried to explain to people, but I feel like I've never explained it very well. John's analogy is quite good, though, and I'd like to share it, as he wrote it, here:

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not so much disturbed by the poor performance of us Christians as about whether we know what we're up to. Fans of the Chicago Cubs don't seem to mind too much that their team plays badly and drops the ball from time to time. But what if in the middle of a close game, the Cubs sat down in the infield and started playing tiddlywinks? Or eating lunch?

No doubt the illustration will prompt all kinds of supposedly entertaining remarks about the Cubs, but when the people of God forget what they're about, it's not at all entertaining. Dropping the ball is one thing. We all do that. I certainly do. And the most casual reading of 1 Corinthians or of Revelation 2-3 prepares us for churches to drop the ball. Often and badly. But it does not prepare us for churches playing the wrong game. Playing the wrong game is very odd. And very troubling.

In fact, it may be the most troubling thing I know--this gap between today's churches and the NT. But what's troubling isn't that churches fail. That's very NT. I don't expect Christians to leap tall buildings at a single bound. To catch every ball. To die rather than let Jews be taken to concentration camps. That is great when it happens, but the NT gives us little reason to expect heroics of ourselves or other Christians. Peter seems to have failed with some regularity. Besides I'm a pastor myself and have learned not to be too stunned by the sin and failure of the folks I pastor: after all, my own record isn't so great. It's God's grace that is great.

So, for example, I don't expect us to live up to the ethics of the kingdom as found in the Sermon on the Mount, but I do expect us to fail in such a way that those watching will know what we were reaching for, what we're failing at. I don't expect us to love each other as we love ourselves, but I do expect us to live in such a way that outsiders will be able to tell that loving each other is what we're about. 

So the problem isn't that we fail. Nor that we do church badly. It's that we're doing something else. We seem to be playing the wrong game against the wrong team at the wrong time. Not always, but pretty often. Maybe especially on Sunday mornings. 

 -- taken from John Alexander's manuscript version of the book that was, at the time, entitled Stop Going to Church and Become the Church (I think John talked about changing the title, but I don't remember what he wanted to change it to except that the focus was Love.)

 

What I've often wondered about is how we can expect the church to be playing the right game if we're not really talking about what game we're playing? It does come up in our congregation once in awhile, during Sunday School (which is poorly attended) or in a sermon. But there's not really any specific time set aside to talk about whether we're still playing the game or if we've gotten sidetracked with doing the wave around the stadium or dancing to the organ music. (OK, so I'm mixing a bit of hockey in here. But I suppose that's the point if hockey's not the game you're supposed to be playing.) I would expect discussions like this at congregational meetings but instead we often get sidetracked with what we spend on watering the grass or hearing reports on stuff that we pretty much already know. 

Of course, this brings up a favorite Christian catch phrase: intentional. But it fits here. How intentional are we as a church? I don't just mean are we, as individuals, thinking about what we're doing, but do we as a congregation communicate with each other on what we're all about and how we're doing in terms of going about it? I'd say that the congregation we're a part of glances across the topic now and then in a rather haphazard manner. How about yours?