on good friday

This is Holy Week. Tomorrow is Maundy Thursday, which in church tradition commemorates the Last Supper. Tomorrow is the remembrance of the first few Words of Institution: On the night he was betrayed... What must it have felt like to be betrayed by one of your closest friends? Can't say I've experienced too much betrayal in my day. What a sting, though. What a foretaste of the pain to come.

Good Friday is the day we focus on Jesus' suffering and sacrifice. Friday is the day that I best understand the phrase "darkest before the dawn." On Friday, there is no hope, only sadness. This Friday, I have the privilege of assisting with the Good Friday service at our church, the Table at CPC. I'll be reciting a couple monologues I helped write. But I have to be honest: it's not going to be a fun time.

Because on Good Friday, we also take a hard, pointed look at ourselves. Because 2,000 years ago, a group of Jesus' followers demanded his death, mere days after celebrating his arrival in Jerusalem. And the point is that if Jesus had been born in 1978, we would also be calling for his crucifixion the day after tomorrow.

So the monologues in the Good Friday service are read to afflict the comfortable. To disturb the secure. We're going to raise eyebrows and prickle skin and upset stomachs. We may even anger you. Because we're going to put audible words to the feelings some of us have hidden away in the darkened corners of our hearts. We're going to call Jesus the same names they called him 2,000 years ago, through the words and attitudes we use today.

And it's not to shock or surprise. It's not to elicit a reaction for theatricality's sake. It's not even to give you hope, because on Good Friday, hope is in short supply -- hope comes Sunday morning.

We're going to say out loud what most of us would never breathe, let alone allow ourselves to form concrete thoughts around. And in the ugliest of ways, we're going to hold up a mirror so we can see ourselves clearly. In doing so, I think we'll also show how that same ugliness that called for Christ's death 2,000 years ago is still hanging around in us today.

If you are looking for a place to worship and remember the sacrificial Lamb this weekend, please join me at The Table at CPC: 6901 Normandale Road, Edina.
Good Friday service: 8pm
Easter Sunday service: 6pm

on being preachy

In all honesty, I'm a bit at a loss for content on this blog. I don't live or teach in Nigeria anymore, I don't feel like my day-to-day life is all that interesting, and I don't know how well my friends and loved ones would like it if I started writing about them. Also, I don't have a cute kid to write about, or the adventures of being married or owning a house to draw on, like some of my other blogging friends.

What I do have though, is a big God, who condescended to save tiny insignificant me. And if my relationship to Him and with Him is all I can think to blog about, well then: That's all there was to write about in the first place.

I worry some about getting a bit preachy. Then I worried more about the connotations of being preachy. Then I worried less, because I figured as long as I'm preaching the right thing, I can be okay with being preachy. Then I worried some more because holy interwebs, Batman: am I preaching the right thing?

So I pulled out the dusty old Bible concordance biblegateway.com and searched the term preach. (Sometimes, in my head, I imagine that this blog is my tiny pulpit and these posts are my tiny sermons. So it makes sense in my head to go to biblegateway.com for these things.)

Here's what I found (emphasis mine):

• 2 Corinthians 4:5 "But what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servant for Jesus' sake."
• 1 Corinthians 1:18, 23 "For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God...but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles."
• 1 Corinthians 15:1, 12-14 "Now, brothers and sisters, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand... ¹² But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? ¹³ If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. ¹⁴ And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith."
• Philippians 1:15-17 "It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill. The latter do so out of love...The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely...But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice."

I preach a gospel of grace, to myself as much as to you. I preach Christ, God incarnate, being crucified and raised from the dead. Whether I preach Him to boost readership, whether I preach Him to remind myself of his grace, whether I preach Him to reflect glory and honor back to Him, I preach Him.

Christ.

Alone.

the Table, communion, and why kneeling matters

Admittedly, this holiday season was the busiest of my life: balancing time with family & friends, travel, and the long-awaited launch of the college I work for. This has also been one of the richest, most meaningful Christmases I can ever remember. A lot of that meaning can be attributed to my new church community, The Table at CPC. Their celebration of Advent was both intentional and profound, and the candlelight Christmas Eve service was probably the most worshipful Christmas service I have ever experienced.

I don't know if you can have a favorite Church sacrament, but if it's possible, communion is mine. The most significant part for me is that at The Table, we typically kneel to receive the elements.

In this culture, this day and age, I am required to bow my knee to no one. Knowledge is power and money is king, and as long as I have both, it seems that I will never have to answer to anyone but myself. These are the lies my culture has sold me, and the truth is clearest to me on Sunday evenings, when I kneel in the face of absolute majesty. I kneel to remember He who took my place, and I kneel to remind myself that I am not in charge; I never was. I kneel in recognition that I give up my autonomy to belong to Jesus Christ, who paid the highest price for my freedom from the bondage of sin.

I don't kneel because I'm enslaved to fire-and-brimstone God. I don't kneel because I'm a brainless automaton who only moves when I'm instructed. I live and move and exercise my free will because of the grace of God. I make decisions and work hard and love my friends & family not because I'm forced to, but because, by God's grace, I am able. So I kneel to recognize that my ability to be a productive member of society comes from the God who made me and redeemed me, and the least I can do is dedicate the work of my hands and the overflow of my heart to His service.

In 2011, The Table will be celebrating communion each week and I am greatly looking forward to the weekly reminder that I kneel before and serve a God who knows me personally, cares about me deeply, and loves me sacrificially.

'tis the season

You know what feeling I love best?

Anticipation.

Unfortunately, I don't think I do anticipation very well as an adult. With children, it's easy to spot: the bright eyes, the wide smiles, the cannot-be-contained energy. They literally don't know what to do with themselves until the expected day or event arrives--and it shows.

But adults? We seem to temper ourselves. We maintain an appropriate level of excitement. The anticipation may threaten to leak out everywhere, but in general, we keep it under wraps.

However, this is the season of anticipation: Advent, in which we await the birth of Christ. I didn't grow up celebrating Advent, with the calendars or the wreaths or the candles, but discovered it in college: first, with the Book of Common Prayer in Renaissance Literature and then, at Life Church, where I began unpacking the concept of holy anticipation.

As a woman, it's especially meaningful to me that Advent begins with a woman in the most intimate moment of her life. I love the language of the Magnificat, and as gorgeous as the first line is in Latin--Magnificat: anima mea Dominum--I appreciate the simplicity of the Book of Common Prayer:

My soul doth magnify the Lord : and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden.

For behold, from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed.

For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.

And his mercy is on them that fear him : throughout all generations.

He hath shewed strength with his arm : he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.

He hath filled the hungry with good things : and the rich he hath sent empty away.

He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel : as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever.

So Advent begins with the announcement of a pregnancy. (No, really.) A pregnancy that was dangerous, a pregnancy that should never have happened, an impossible pregnancy, really. Mary is so strong in her vulnerability at this moment. But if we limit Advent to the joyful anticipation of the birth of Christ, I wonder if we've missed the bigger picture:

Advent is really the anticipation of the arrival of Israel's salvation.

Perhaps we don't have a clear concept of that kind of anticipation: Waiting. Thousands of years of waiting. Patient waiting sometimes, but mostly impatient waiting. Groaning. How long, O Lord? Come quickly. Questioning. Has He forgotten us? Perhaps our God won't make good on His promise.

See, anticipation isn't just bouncing our knees, arms outstretched, smile on our face. It is that, but it is more. Advent is joyful because we know that He does arrive, and He does ransom Israel. But it's also messy. It's impatient people, unworthy of rescue, crying out to God to be saved, maybe even doubting it will happen. As the years stack up, and generations stretch out, perhaps it becomes the stuff of legends, like that story your grandpa tells you're pretty sure isn't true. It just seems so unlikely that the waiting will ever end. That God will ever remember you.

And then it happens. The promise is fulfilled.

Doesn't that make the shepherds seem so much more genuine? Imagine the young men, who doubted it would ever happen. Imagine the old men, whose hope was maybe a little more real. Imagine the small boys, who would never know the lifetime of waiting all their forefathers knew. The fulfillment was right now. It was here. It was real.

That is Advent to me. It's so much more than the excitement of pregnancy. It's the culmination of years of that quietly-whispered hope and those tender prayers. So Advent is anticipation: joyful and messy. Isn't that just the story of our whole lives?

Magnificat: anima mea Dominum.

worship music does this to me

I've been thinking through a lot of heavy stuff lately. Heavy stuff like sin, guilt and shame, but also heavy stuff like forgiveness, redemption and the grace of God.

This is what I keep circling back to: we serve a good God.

He is righteous and He is just, and His righteousness and justice does not tolerate my sin. But because He is also good, He has provided a way that I can stand in His presence - His very presence! - blameless and pure in His sight, and that is through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

It doesn't take too long before that thought completely overpowers the heaviness of my sin, guilt, and shame. Which might be something akin to victory.

the truth about encouragement

God gave me a big heart. True story. I mostly feel made to love on people.

(Unless you're a jerk, in which case, God is probably using you to teach me about loving people.)

In the past few weeks, I feel like God has put me in a place to encourage others. I would say this is different from the spiritual gift of encouragement, but I have had some choice opportunities to talk with dear, beloved people--people who are buried deep in the heart of God--and to encourage them.

I've been radically blessed in my own life. I've seen God show up in big ways and small ways, and I can testify to new mercies and amazing grace. Having that perspective puts me in a place to be encouraging and motivational.

But there's a drawback here; one I can't get around. I've spoken with some very broken-hearted people, people who have not seen God show up in big ways and small ways, people who can barely remember evidence of new mercies and amazing grace.
Others are just plain struggling--nothing extraordinarily awful has happened, but they feel uninspired, frustrated, not fully alive. When I talk to these people, do you know what I feel like?

A proselytizer. A phony. A lucky girl whose life just happened to work out.

It breaks my heart. I can imagine being in their shoes, and I would say to me: "Well, that's all well and good for you, and I'm glad God has been faithful in your life, but from where I sit, it doesn't look like God even cares."

So I'm torn between two reactions, and both feel disingenuous:
1. Don't believe the lie. God does care. He is near. He is faithful.
2. It may be difficult now, but I believe time will grant you perspective and answer the why

Either response makes me out to be an effervescent optimist: empty-headed, ungrounded, or worse--ignorant. Not the good kind of optimist, the annoying kind.

And yet.

I still feel that in their sharing of pain, of trouble, of stress, of discontent, of life, and in my response of joy, of hope, of perseverance, of promise, there is still a tiny provision of encouragement there.

So I press on. I can really only be two things: a cheerleader for those needing a boost, and an empathetic heart for those experiencing pain I will never know.

If you need it, I will cheer you on. If you need it, I will sit with you and hold your hand.
But either way, I'm going to tell you that God is faithful. Even when you can't see it. And that might be frustrating for you to hear. But you need to hear it, from someone who means well, from someone who believes it is true, from someone who will remind you of it until you believe it, too.

Also, to those people: you are loved. You are loved by me, a girl who received a big heart from a God who loves you even more.

intellectual christianity

So I joined a Theology discussion group.

Which sounds really holier-than-thou but it's totally not.

Basically, it's like this: I loved my Christian Thought class in college. I learned about history, foundations, heresies, interpretations, schisms, denominations. It was more formative than any other class in shaping who I am--period--but also who I am as an intellectual Christian.

You know, intellectual Christianity: loving Christ with your head as well as your heart. (a.k.a. for the geeks out there [like me] it's not enough to serve God with a child-like faith, I want to be able to wrap my brain around it all, too.)

A year after I graduated, plus and minus a move to Africa, I found myself craving the Calvinist v. Arminian debate again, and went looking for discussion. I found it at Southland City Church's City Groups - they have an entire one dedicated to Theology.

I totally geeked out, you guys. I realized how much I wanted to engage with theology, ask big questions, search for big answers, and be humbled in that feeling-small way when I recognize how little I understand about God.

So tonight was my first night. We discussed the "birthright" the Jews have on heaven. Are they shoe-ins because they're descendants of Abraham? Have they given that up because they rejected Jesus as the Messiah?

We scoured Scripture - and I mean scoured. We pored over words and someone with the Logos software interpreted Greek and Hebrew terms. We looked at traditional interpretations and dissenters' opinions. Incredible. This is the passage I contributed to the group: Romans 11: 25-36:

Paul addresses this seemingly huge issue (which really takes up the whole of Chapter 11, for context) and breaks it down and states God's position on the issue, only to use his last breath of the chapter to acknowledge how omniscient God is. How God's judgment cannot be known by mankind. And ultimately, how the glory goes to God, regardless of the outcome.

I just want to be like Paul.

I want to have the ability and the passion and heart to discuss really hard things (like whether or not the Jews, God's people, today will inherit the kingdom of heaven promised to their father, Abraham) and I want to do it in view of my insignificance. In view of God's righteousness and in view of my inability to know how He thinks.

Essentially, Paul lays it all out there and closes with, "But I am not God." I want to be able to do that, too, in true humility.

I have a really long way to go.

And if you ever want to join me in that pursuit, the Theology group meets on Wednesdays.

forever is an awfully long time

Eternity has been on my mind lately.

I know, really light subject, huh?

It started with an incredible funeral last week. I say incredible because it was a 37-year-old mother of an autistic toddler; she died from a massive epileptic seizure.

I also say incredible because have you ever seen an entire family, robbed of their youngest daughter, with hands uplifted, singing Great is Thy Faithfulness? It's incredible.

There are a number of questions which accompany funerals. You generally think about yourself: What if it happened to you? What if it happened tomorrow? Are you prepared? Are things in order?

I had a few other reactions, too. It was an open casket funeral, and I haven't been to that type of funeral in probably 10 years. It just struck me, though, that she wasn't there. Her body was, but everything that made her Melanie has passed onto glory - where she is healed, whole, and standing in the presence of Jesus Christ.

There was a lot of hope present at that funeral - this life is not all there is. We have a hope that transcends this material world. Glory to God!

My internal dwelling on eternity continued tonight at Southland City Church. One of my new favorite songs is called Yahweh, and these are the only lines I know from memory:

We look to Yahweh, Yahweh.
Forever Yahweh, Yahweh.

And He shall reign forever; He shall reign forever;
He shall reign forever and ever.

I sang those lines over and over, in my car, all the way home. I was struck by the realization that long after I am gone, when this place is nothing but wasteland, and when the temples of man's ingenuity are nothing but forgotten ruins, Yahweh will reign.

And for forever after that, He will still reign.

And for all that time, from the time I am finished in this world until time is no more, I will give praise to Him.

Which was when all my thoughts came together: When Melanie lost consciousness that day, she left this world and awoke to the presence of Jesus Christ, whom she will praise forever and ever.

Glory to God in the highest.

Paradigm Shift

For the last 2 days, I've been writing a final paper for an elective course called Media, Religion & Society. My topic is broad and unmanageable, I'm running out of time, and the research is far more captivating than the actual writing. In short, the paper is a disaster.

What's more, Shane Claiborne is wrecking me.

I picked up The Irresistible Revolution because I thought I could profile Claiborne's simple living community called The Simple Way as a corollary to the megachurch phenomenon so popular these days. And I don't even want to write this paper anymore, I just want to read the book! There is something so profoundly worshipful about their approach to community. Their bottom line is "small things with great love." What a standard to live up to.

I am also struck by the fact that they are successful apart from income. In fact, they live frugally (in the Franciscan sense - for real). And I'm being hit hard with this concept: Christians aren't called to be rich. They are not. It is not biblical. The kingdom of heaven belongs to the poor. And this, right after I have purchased a very nice car, secured health insurance, both things I "need," but not really.

I'm not overcome by guilt, I'm not going to rush out and join a simple living community. I'm not going to give away all my clothes, but I'm going to stop purchasing them. I have ENOUGH.

What I am going to do is to search for the hold that Brand Jesus (not the resurrected Son of God, but the symbol of the religion I have purchased through my American consumerism) has on my life, and eradicate its traces. If you want to know more about Brand Jesus, buy the book of the same title by Tyler Wigg Stevenson. It will not make you comfortable. Like Irresistible Revolution, it will comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. It will open your eyes and you will probably have to wrestle with its contents, like I did. But your response will probably not be to write a 20 page paper on it. Your response will be more introspective and have more to do with self-discipline. Yours is the better option, trust me.