It seems to me that the conventional view of love is pretty fouled up. We (as a society) tend to get love confused with other things.
We get love confused with infatuation, for example. Infatuation is an intense, reactive sort of emotion. Love is an intentional commitment meant for the long-haul.
We get love confused with rewards, as in I'll love you if you . . . fill in the blank. Love isn't a variable in equation; it's supposed to be a constant. I'll love you no matter what.
We think love is a heart thing (something that just happens, outside my control) when real love is a heart-mind-hands and feet thing (something I decide that I will do, an endless series of actions I take).
I learned something else about love from my daughter. A while ago she took a summertime job in another state working with a small group of teenagers with all sorts of backgrounds. Before she moved there, before she ever saw any of them, she committed herself to loving them. She decided that she would love them -- regardless of what she found out about them, regardless of how they might behave, regardless of whether they accepted her or not.
I think this is an excellent model of Biblical love. After all, that's what our Lord did; he loved us before we decided to accept or reject his gift of sacrifice: "While we were yet sinners..."
I've been experimenting with deciding in advance to love people -- before I see what they are like or how they act. I decide to love the people on the drive to work, in the store, at the office -- before I ever encounter them.
Somehow, thinking about love this way opens up a new understanding for me.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Other churches -- part two
I seem to be unusually aware when I visit other churches, alive to what I might learn.
When I visited another church recently, I was surprised to notice that the people around me had kept their coats on. At first, I thought it was because the building had very high ceilings and was drafty. Then I thought it was because they didn’t intend to stay very long.
Then I thought about the words in Exodus associated with the institution of the Passover: the people were to obey His commands “with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand.” God was teaching the people to be ready for, to be expectant about His deliverance, His work in their lives. God’s people were supposed to be ready to go when He called them.
Back home in my church, we come into the church building, move into the pews, take off our coats and spread out our belongings. Suddenly, it seemed to me that back home we “set up camp” in our church.
In this far-away place of worship, I could imagine that the people were aware that they were treading on holy ground; their posture seemed to indicate that they were unworthy of God’s house.
I wondered about the difference in coming into God’s presence with an attitude of being ready to go vs. coming into God’s presence with an attitude of claiming territory. In the New Testament we are told to ‘Go and make disciples.’ We are told to ‘put on the armor of God’ which seems clearly to indicate something other than sitting comfortably.
I wonder if in my church tradition we tend to get too casual with God, assuming we can relax. I wonder if in our arrogance we are acting like guests in God’s presence instead of servants.
When I visited another church recently, I was surprised to notice that the people around me had kept their coats on. At first, I thought it was because the building had very high ceilings and was drafty. Then I thought it was because they didn’t intend to stay very long.
Then I thought about the words in Exodus associated with the institution of the Passover: the people were to obey His commands “with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand.” God was teaching the people to be ready for, to be expectant about His deliverance, His work in their lives. God’s people were supposed to be ready to go when He called them.
Back home in my church, we come into the church building, move into the pews, take off our coats and spread out our belongings. Suddenly, it seemed to me that back home we “set up camp” in our church.
In this far-away place of worship, I could imagine that the people were aware that they were treading on holy ground; their posture seemed to indicate that they were unworthy of God’s house.
I wondered about the difference in coming into God’s presence with an attitude of being ready to go vs. coming into God’s presence with an attitude of claiming territory. In the New Testament we are told to ‘Go and make disciples.’ We are told to ‘put on the armor of God’ which seems clearly to indicate something other than sitting comfortably.
I wonder if in my church tradition we tend to get too casual with God, assuming we can relax. I wonder if in our arrogance we are acting like guests in God’s presence instead of servants.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Other churches
When I travel, I like to visit other people’s churches.
Sometimes I like to visit churches in my own tradition or denomination. Sometimes I like to visit churches that are very different from my home church.
When I visit churches in my own tradition, I am comforted by the familiarity. I love the notion of having brothers and sisters in all parts of the world. I love the acceptance and welcome I find among these people who are strangers – and yet so familiar.
I am endlessly curious to see the many nuances of worship and community in these other churches that sport the same name on the sign out front. I read their bulletins and listen to their announcements with great interest. I often get new ideas for my own church’s ministries and activities.
In addition to the blessings associated with the corporate worship, I appreciate the opportunity to see what our churches look like through the eyes of a visitor. By noticing what makes me feel welcome or uncomfortable, I gain insight on how to help visitors to my church back home feel more at ease.
But as I said, I also like to visit churches that are very different from my normal Sunday morning experience. I know about various segments of Christianity, but I have not had many chances to experience those other churches first hand. I suppose that my lack of exposure to those other traditions is largely due to the fact that I am so very involved with my own church. In any case, I find it fascinating to have the chance to attend services in these other houses of worship, to see the variations on the theme.
Earlier this month, I was in a city in another country on Sunday morning. I did a little research on churches within walking distance of the hotel and decided on a cathedral about eight blocks away. My usual approach is to try to fit in with the crowd while not getting in the way of the members who usually attend there. Furthermore, I want to worship; I don’t want to be a tourist at church.
On this occasion, I attended a very formal “high church” sitting toward the back, where I admired the stunning architecture, the glorious stained-glass windows, and the angelic voices of the boys’ choir. I smelled the incense. I found my place in the book and joined in the responses of those around me.
As always when I visit a church that is strange to me, the experience was enlightening and thought-provoking. I worshiped God in their tradition and felt uplifted, benefitting from the changed perspective and unfamiliar cadence.
Sometimes I like to visit churches in my own tradition or denomination. Sometimes I like to visit churches that are very different from my home church.
When I visit churches in my own tradition, I am comforted by the familiarity. I love the notion of having brothers and sisters in all parts of the world. I love the acceptance and welcome I find among these people who are strangers – and yet so familiar.
I am endlessly curious to see the many nuances of worship and community in these other churches that sport the same name on the sign out front. I read their bulletins and listen to their announcements with great interest. I often get new ideas for my own church’s ministries and activities.
In addition to the blessings associated with the corporate worship, I appreciate the opportunity to see what our churches look like through the eyes of a visitor. By noticing what makes me feel welcome or uncomfortable, I gain insight on how to help visitors to my church back home feel more at ease.
But as I said, I also like to visit churches that are very different from my normal Sunday morning experience. I know about various segments of Christianity, but I have not had many chances to experience those other churches first hand. I suppose that my lack of exposure to those other traditions is largely due to the fact that I am so very involved with my own church. In any case, I find it fascinating to have the chance to attend services in these other houses of worship, to see the variations on the theme.
Earlier this month, I was in a city in another country on Sunday morning. I did a little research on churches within walking distance of the hotel and decided on a cathedral about eight blocks away. My usual approach is to try to fit in with the crowd while not getting in the way of the members who usually attend there. Furthermore, I want to worship; I don’t want to be a tourist at church.
On this occasion, I attended a very formal “high church” sitting toward the back, where I admired the stunning architecture, the glorious stained-glass windows, and the angelic voices of the boys’ choir. I smelled the incense. I found my place in the book and joined in the responses of those around me.
As always when I visit a church that is strange to me, the experience was enlightening and thought-provoking. I worshiped God in their tradition and felt uplifted, benefitting from the changed perspective and unfamiliar cadence.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
More old (but good!) words
God is the fountain whence
Ten thousand blessings flow
To Him my life, my health, and friends
And every good I owe.
The comforts he affords
Are neither few nor small
He is the source of fresh delight
My portion and my all.
He fills my heart with joy
My lips attunes for praise
And to his glory I'll devote
The remnant of my days.
Ten thousand blessings flow
To Him my life, my health, and friends
And every good I owe.
The comforts he affords
Are neither few nor small
He is the source of fresh delight
My portion and my all.
He fills my heart with joy
My lips attunes for praise
And to his glory I'll devote
The remnant of my days.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Old words
I grew up with the old hymns.
As a child I often wondered at the archaic language in those hymns which at best was indecipherable, at worst misleading and confusing.
Despite the gap between my English and the sometimes inaccessible vocabulary, I still enjoyed singing in the church back home. Over the years, I learned what most of the words meant and understood the sentiment of the lyrics.
Later on, like many of my generation, I welcomed the new praise music that spoke in more familiar terms and allowed me to sing from my heart without barriers.
Lately, however, I've noticed the depth of understanding in some of those old songs. Here's one that caught my attention recently, and although the language isn't native to me, I value highly the words of the writer:
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be.
Let thy goodness like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to thee.
Here's my heart, O take and seal it
Seal it for thy courts above.
Never let me wander from thee,
Never leave the God I love.
As a child I often wondered at the archaic language in those hymns which at best was indecipherable, at worst misleading and confusing.
Despite the gap between my English and the sometimes inaccessible vocabulary, I still enjoyed singing in the church back home. Over the years, I learned what most of the words meant and understood the sentiment of the lyrics.
Later on, like many of my generation, I welcomed the new praise music that spoke in more familiar terms and allowed me to sing from my heart without barriers.
Lately, however, I've noticed the depth of understanding in some of those old songs. Here's one that caught my attention recently, and although the language isn't native to me, I value highly the words of the writer:
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be.
Let thy goodness like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to thee.
Here's my heart, O take and seal it
Seal it for thy courts above.
Never let me wander from thee,
Never leave the God I love.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Outside looking in
Recently I've been challenged to take a peek at what the church looks like from the outside. If you haven't tried it lately, it's not for the faint of heart. If you can't bear criticism, don't read further. If you think we should be reaching people with good news, read on cautiously.
One note: I am not talking about any particular church. I'm talking in the large sense: church.
In order to pursue this outside perspective, I imagined myself outside any church -- having no church affiliation. Almost immediately I was struck by how exclusive the church looks from that perspective. For a person unaccustomed to the rhythms and customs of a church, everyone inside seems to be dancing to a song that only they can hear. When to sit, when to stand, what to expect next are mysteries. (Even as a church-goer, I've experienced this feeling briefly when I have visited churches in other cities or churches in other traditions than my own.)
Although most churches are genuinely welcoming, we sometimes talk in inaccessible language that probably sounds like code. And sometimes the words we use are unintentionally hurtful or offensive . . . exclusionary. Words like the ones we use for those people who are not in our churches, words like "non-Christians" or "unchurched" or "outsiders" or "the world" -- or gasp! "pagans." Even the terms "visitor" and "newcomer" can sound critical, carrying with it the idea of latecomer or those slow to arrive at the truth that the rest of us found oh so long ago. Even the well-intentioned visitor nametag can feel to some like a label -- or worse yet, a target. For some, it seems to brand them as a person who doesn't belong.
One man recently verbalized how exclusive Christians seem, noting that we have our own bookstores, or own radio stations, and in some places our own yellow pages so that we can avoid all contact with "outsiders" or people who don't belong to the same club. Yikes. Now that I see what that looks like from the perspective of a person approaching (or not!) us, I'm stunned. I hadn't thought of it that way. But now I see how it may appear.
When I received a flyer from a Christian bookstore recently, I read it with different (outside) eyes, and my heart hurt. If I were longing for inclusion, I would have found multiple instances reinforcing my lonely status -- not part of the group.
Let me challenge you to take a look at us with these "other eyes" and join me in thinking of ways to minimize these barriers.
One note: I am not talking about any particular church. I'm talking in the large sense: church.
In order to pursue this outside perspective, I imagined myself outside any church -- having no church affiliation. Almost immediately I was struck by how exclusive the church looks from that perspective. For a person unaccustomed to the rhythms and customs of a church, everyone inside seems to be dancing to a song that only they can hear. When to sit, when to stand, what to expect next are mysteries. (Even as a church-goer, I've experienced this feeling briefly when I have visited churches in other cities or churches in other traditions than my own.)
Although most churches are genuinely welcoming, we sometimes talk in inaccessible language that probably sounds like code. And sometimes the words we use are unintentionally hurtful or offensive . . . exclusionary. Words like the ones we use for those people who are not in our churches, words like "non-Christians" or "unchurched" or "outsiders" or "the world" -- or gasp! "pagans." Even the terms "visitor" and "newcomer" can sound critical, carrying with it the idea of latecomer or those slow to arrive at the truth that the rest of us found oh so long ago. Even the well-intentioned visitor nametag can feel to some like a label -- or worse yet, a target. For some, it seems to brand them as a person who doesn't belong.
One man recently verbalized how exclusive Christians seem, noting that we have our own bookstores, or own radio stations, and in some places our own yellow pages so that we can avoid all contact with "outsiders" or people who don't belong to the same club. Yikes. Now that I see what that looks like from the perspective of a person approaching (or not!) us, I'm stunned. I hadn't thought of it that way. But now I see how it may appear.
When I received a flyer from a Christian bookstore recently, I read it with different (outside) eyes, and my heart hurt. If I were longing for inclusion, I would have found multiple instances reinforcing my lonely status -- not part of the group.
Let me challenge you to take a look at us with these "other eyes" and join me in thinking of ways to minimize these barriers.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Within understanding distance
In 1839 Alexander Campbell wrote The Christian System, and in the second chapter he outlines seven rules for biblical interpretation. His 'rules' are excellent advice, in my opinion, standing the test of time.
I was particularly struck by his seventh rule, however: "The interpreter must come within understanding distance" of God in order to hear the biblical text clearly. Isn't that a rich thought: come within understanding distance of God.
Campbell explains:
Humility of mind, or what is in effect the same, contempt for all earth-born pre-eminence, prepares the mind for the reception of this light; or, what is virtually the same, opens the ears to hear the voice of God. Amidst the din of all the arguments from the flesh, the world, and Satan, a person is so deaf that he cannot hear the still small voice of God's philanthropy. But receding from pride, covetousness, and false ambition; from the love of the world; and in coming within that circle, the circumference of which is unfeigned humility, and the centre of which is God himself--the voice of God is distinctly heard and clearly understood. All within this circle are taught by God; all without it are under the influence of the wicked one. 'God resisteth the proud, but he giveth grace to the humble.'
In order to hear the still small voice of God, we must seek Him. We must travel as long and as far as necessary to come within understanding distance. We must approach with genuine humility.
I want to move to a place in my life where I am "within understanding distance of God."
I was particularly struck by his seventh rule, however: "The interpreter must come within understanding distance" of God in order to hear the biblical text clearly. Isn't that a rich thought: come within understanding distance of God.
Campbell explains:
Humility of mind, or what is in effect the same, contempt for all earth-born pre-eminence, prepares the mind for the reception of this light; or, what is virtually the same, opens the ears to hear the voice of God. Amidst the din of all the arguments from the flesh, the world, and Satan, a person is so deaf that he cannot hear the still small voice of God's philanthropy. But receding from pride, covetousness, and false ambition; from the love of the world; and in coming within that circle, the circumference of which is unfeigned humility, and the centre of which is God himself--the voice of God is distinctly heard and clearly understood. All within this circle are taught by God; all without it are under the influence of the wicked one. 'God resisteth the proud, but he giveth grace to the humble.'
In order to hear the still small voice of God, we must seek Him. We must travel as long and as far as necessary to come within understanding distance. We must approach with genuine humility.
I want to move to a place in my life where I am "within understanding distance of God."
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