Form and Function

Form and Function.  Today is traditionally known as Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, a holiday which seeks to emphasize repentance during the 40 days (not including Sundays) leading up to Easter with fasting and prayer. Historically, participants would fast from one meal per day through Lent until Easter’s sunset as an act of penance. On Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, worshipers abstain from meat in addition to the Lenten fast, as a form of sacrifice. Some extend the Good Friday rule to the whole year, abstaining from meat (but not fish) every Friday, a Catholic tradition but not a Catholic dogma. Modern forms of the Lenten fast abstain from something that is considered special to re-orient the soul to Christ. From the burned palm fronds which were distributed on last year’s Palm Sunday, priests or deacons use the ashes to mark the heads of worshipers, reminding them of their mortality and their need to make reconciliation with God while there is still time: “Repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15), “[Remember] you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen. 3:19).

All in all, disregarding the baggage of cultural expectations and the crippling flaw that doing penance earns merit with God, Ash Wednesday and Lent contain good ideas, especially considering that these traditions formed in times when illiteracy was much more common than literacy. Meaningful motions and vibrant object lessons annually reinforced memorable elements of the life and death of Christ for the population as teaching tools. The function of Ash Wednesday was undoubtedly for religious education of the masses, even those who were not church folks. But as often happens over time, form overshadows function.

Function is intangible, whereas form is enforceable. Function deals with the heart, which is hidden. Form deals with behavior, which is public. Form ultimately wins the day by smothering original function. Ash Wednesday went from being something we do to something we must do. Regulations heaped up over the years about whether the ashes were made from only last year’s palms, whether the ashes were mixed with holy water, whether the ashes were blessed with the correct words by the correct priests in the correct places, whether the ashes were placed as a dot, a smear, or a cross on the forehead, or the hand, or strewn all over the participant. Ash Wednesday crushed under its own weight. The value of ritual rests solely in what it signifies, not in how it signifies. It’s not ritual but Jesus who saves.

Blessed Are Those Who Are Persecuted

Blessed Are Those Who Are Persecuted.  It is enlightening to observe those whom the world considers lucky. Vegas bookmakers determine the odds of various outcomes of luck in sports, which sounds like the wolf setting the menu for the sheep. An anecdote for professional poker players says that a life-long gambler is considered lucky to break even playing his last hand. Many (½ to ¾) large-dollar lottery winners ironically yet consistently lose all their prize money, if not file for bankrupt, within 3-5 years after winning. But luck is fickle, impersonal, and stupid to chase. Far better than luck, chance, fate, karma, etc., is grace. Because grace is an attribute of God, who never changes his essence though he holds the prerogative to change his methodology, then grace is entirely consistent, highly personal, and wise. Those who receive the grace of God are called blessed, which can be translated as happy.

But blessed is not the word that comes to mind when I read last week about the 70 Christians beheaded in their church building by ISIS-aligned militiamen in eastern Congo. Happy is not the description reported yesterday on Voice of the Martyrs of a man in Afghanistan, poisoned by his brother for becoming a Christian, and his widow who went into hiding. But Jesus does! 

In the cataclysmic introduction of his famous Sermon on the Mount, Jesus takes several examples of people considered highly unlucky by the world, if not accursed of God, and calls them blessed, happy. It was shocking then. It still is shocking now! The end of his list of the blessed ones, which often signifies an emphasis, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:10). As if anticipating the crowd’s disbelief at his statement, Jesus doubles down, saying it again, making it personal instead of general, “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you” (Matt. 5:11-12). 

How can persecution be a mark of blessing? Because blessing hinges on Jesus’ phrase, “for righteousness’ sake,” which he further clarifies, “on my account.” Faithful association with Jesus, even if it is met with a bloody and unjust reaction, is friendship with God, which can only be called happy in the long view. The Church Father, Tertullian, said it well in his Apologeticus (197 A.D.), “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church … we are not a new philosophy but a divine revelation.” It is not the presence but the absence of persecution that is abnormal when one envisions the entire, historic, global church at once. Persecution is not an ancient phenomenon. Today, in over 60 countries, having and sharing the Christian faith is illegal and unwanted. The mistreatment of Christians seems to occur with impunity. 

Tomorrow

Tomorrow.  When my baseball teammates would debate the merits of practicing today when the forecast for tomorrow’s game shows 100% chance of rain, my coach would say, “You can’t live your life based on forecasts.” Forecasts are helpful but never binding upon tomorrow.

Tomorrow is an interesting subject biblically (used 55x in the Bible). God, who does not exist on the timeline, often communicates to his creatures who are bound to it in terms of the timeline. In a sense, tomorrow is our word of limitation, but God condescends to use it. God knows that we are finite, so he speaks in a way that prioritizes our understanding of his infinity. For instance, Moses repeatedly told Pharaoh of a plague coming tomorrow: “Tomorrow this sign will happen” (Exo. 8:23; 9:5, 18; 10:4). Could God not have brought this plague today? Of course, but God wanted understanding in Egypt and the world that he is the Eternal God.

Mostly, tomorrow is a simple time marker in the Bible, a reference point: “about this time tomorrow” (1 Sam. 9:16). Yet a few times, tomorrow is a sophisticated metaphor. “Do not say to your neighbor, ‘Go, and come again, tomorrow I will give it’—when you have it with you” (Prov. 3:28). “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring” (Prov. 27:1). “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die” (Isa. 22:13; 1 Cor. 15:32). “Tomorrow will be like this day, great beyond measure” (Isa. 56:12). In a way, the Scriptures confront us to ask the question: what is my relationship to the concept of tomorrow?

In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus uses tomorrow in a figurative sense signifying all that exists outside of our direct control, “Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matt. 6:34). Like Jesus, James again challenges us to investigate our relationship to the concept of tomorrow. “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that’” (James 4:13-15). 

Then our question—What is my relationship to the concept of tomorrow?—stands merely as a prelude to a better question: What is God’s relationship to the concept of tomorrow? Just as Jesus reasoned about the sabbath, “The Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath” (Mark 2:28), so also his principle applies to the concept of tomorrow. Jesus is not the servant of time; he is the Lord even of time. Therefore, tomorrow is Jesus’ servant, not his master.

Cleverly Devised Myths

Cleverly Devised Myths.  Edelweiss isn’t an Austrian folk song. Take a few moments to register the shock of that revelation. When asked, locals in the village of Millstat, close to Salzburg, Austria, had never heard this folk song about the mountain flower, edelweiss, except as piped in via American film, The Sound of Music (1965), with their addition of an appropriate eyeroll. 

When Ronald Reagan quoted the movie’s lyrics back to Austrian President, Rudolf Kirchschlaeger, at a State Dinner speech (March 1, 1984), the Austrian press excoriated the song as “kitsch” and “sticky-sweet,” a sell-out by Austrian leaders for cooperating with ignorance. “If the world doesn't want to take us any other way, we just have to sell ourselves under a thick layer of icing” (Ruth Gruber, “Austrians Rankled at Reagan,” March 2, 1984, UPI).

Edelweiss, edelweiss / Every morning you greet me

Small and white, clean and bright / You look happy to meet me

Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow / Bloom and grow forever

Edelweiss, edelweiss / Bless my homeland forever

The film took liberties with the story, but the Trapp family exists, as does the Austrian state flower, edelweiss. Rodgers and Hammerstein commissioned the song, which was skillfully written by Bill Lee and Charmaine Carr, for their Broadway show (1959) and its film release.

“It is a love song,” said Baron Georg von Trapp of Edelweiss in the film (played by Christopher Plummer, though the singing was dubbed over with the voice of composer Bill Lee). Its lyrics were doubly meaningful, presenting a subtle protest. He sang of his homeland, like a mountain flower which had been mercilessly plucked by the Nazis, while pretending to be happy about it. Austria, however, will bloom again. The film was adapted from the memoirs of Maria von Trapp, The Story of the Trapp Family Singers (1949). In life, the von Trapp family emigrated from Austria to America, settling in Stowe, Vermont.

Now, take a few moments to prepare for the shock of this next revelation. The gospel of Jesus Christ isn’t like Edelweiss. Skillful artisans in the school of the apostles did not apply a backstory to make their narrative believable, even beautiful. Edelweiss, the fake folk song, might have sounded believable about Austria to Hollywood, but the Austrians knew better. The perennial accusation against the church is that the disciples fabricated a backstory to make their narrative believable, even beautiful. Critics might allow for the Jesus character but not the biblical Christ. However, the death and resurrection of Christ truly is a love song for the church. Its composer is God. It might sound kitsch and sticky-sweet to natural ears, but whoever has ears of faith knows better. “For we did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty” (2 Pet. 1:16). 

Make Me to Know Your Ways

Make Me to Know Your Ways. Starting in 1950, Jack Grout became “the first and only” golf teacher to legendary PGA, Hall of Fame, golfer Jack Nicklaus (Jack Nicklaus, The Greatest Game of All, [1969], 60). Already an excellent golfer at 10 years old in 1950 and throughout his amateur (1959-1961) and professional (1962-1986) careers, Nicklaus at the beginning of each golf season would nevertheless return to Grout and say, “Teach me to golf.” From scratch, as if unfamiliar, Grout would mentor and modify Nicklaus in the fundamentals of golf (Jack Nicklaus, My Story [2003]). It is easy to detect Grout’s coaching in Nicklaus’ explanation of his approach to the sport: “Focus on remedies, not faults” (Ken Bowden, Jack Nicklaus, [1990], 31). “[Grout] knew the golf swing probably as well as any instructor ever has … He wanted you not only to be skilled technically, but also to be so confident of your skills that you could identify and fix your own swing flaws even in the heat of battle, even without him there by your side. In other words, Jack Grout worked to be dispensable. He wanted his students to be able to function at the highest level without him” (Dick Grout, Jack Grout, A Legacy in Golf [2012].

I may know how to swing an axe and how to choke up on the bat to swing with two strikes, but I have no idea how to swing a golf club. I have never golfed. I’ve never even been on a golf course except once in the late 1980s for an afternoon of short-lived, unauthorized sledding. I don’t watch golf except when I want something calm on the television behind Sunday afternoon naps. To my chagrin, I had to research which Jack is the golfer (Jack Nicklaus) and which Jack is the actor (Jack Nicholson). Yet, I gravitate to Grout’s philosophy of coaching, working to be dispensable. In the realm of Christian ministry, for teaching others to follow not the human teacher but the Lord Jesus, dispensability is a must. Though the principle appears in Scripture, the practice is oddly absent in modern ministry. Dispensability works against building job security, I suppose. Yet the weight of the idea is enormous, teaching others how to think more than what to think. It is perfectly shaped for local pastoring and wonderfully adaptable to international missions. Yet even more than Grout, I galvanize around Nicklaus’ humility in learning, “Teach me to golf.” He was the opposite of a know-it-all.

Making the transition from sport to Scripture is smooth. It is easy to detect God’s heart in David’s appetite to learn. “Make me to know your ways, O LORD; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long” (Psa. 25:4-5). In a time when the priesthood was decimated (Saul’s massacre of the priests at Nob) and way-laid by sin (Eli’s long-lasting curse on his branch of the high priestly line), David was a principal teacher in Israel. Yet, his posture was that of a learner first, wholly dependent upon God to teach him about God in view of teaching others about God. “Make me to know,” from scratch, as if unfamiliar, David returns humbly to God for review of the fundamentals about God.

New Year, New You

New Year, New You.  Every January the multibillion-dollar self-improvement industry adopts the same marketing strategy from diet plans and vitamin supplements to gym memberships and day spas: Be the best version of yourself. This January alone, I have seen many versions of that tired slogan. Sadly, even sacrilegiously, a billboard for a church stands above I-40 in Greensboro, NC, preaching a startlingly similar message to the self-improvement mantra of the world, “A place to belong and become a better you.” No worries if you missed that sign because other similar signs wait for you in every city large enough for a downtown district: Winston-Salem, Statesville, Hickory, Morganton, Marion, etc. “Come to Jesus and solve all your problems.” Wait a second! Is self-improvement what the church is peddling?

From cover to cover, the Bible and therefore the church teaches a totally different message, starting with the bad news: New Year, Same You. Wardrobe upgrade or not, humans cannot change their nature just as surely as a leopard cannot change its spots (Jer. 13:23). Humanity cannot reforge its identity just as surely as it cannot revise its history. Men, women, boys, and girls might be able to turn over a new leaf relative to other humans, but biblically speaking, they cannot improve themselves spiritually with respect to God. “Without faith it is impossible to please God” (Heb. 11:6). At our very best while we exist apart from Christ, we are as Christ summarized it in Matthew 23:27. “For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness.”

If it were not so tragic, then it might be comical how much unredeemed humans resemble zombies—animated but not alive—the walking dead who paint their cheeks with rogue and attempt to reverse their decay with B-12 injections. Death is not the cessation of biological life but the absence of spiritual life. Spiritual death limps along until biological death catches up, somewhat active and able to do certain functions but spiritually disconnected from the source of true, eternal Life, who is Jesus Christ (John 1:4; 11:25; 14:6; 1 John 1:1-2; 5:11-12).

The good news (i.e., the gospel) answers that bad news. “The wages of sin is death but the free gift from God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Rom. 6:23). Death isn’t the end but, by God’s gracious intervention, merely the middle. Jesus conquered his own grave and conquered our death, too. By grace through faith in him, he unites us to himself so completely that the Bible calls it regeneration, a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17). Just like the first creation in Genesis, God makes something from nothing in the new birth, too, a re-genesis. In that sense, we are not better, renovated, cosmetically altered versions of our old self. We are totally transformed, forgiven, adopted, accepted, and spiritually resurrected with Christ. 

Snow Day

Snow Day.  One person’s grand adventure is another person’s mega clean-up operation. I mean, who sews all those buttons back on Clark Kent’s shirts? Who washes all those dishes after each round of The Great British Bake Off? Every teacher must still accomplish the same amount of work regardless of the number of snow days. Truck drivers, switchboard operators, traffic incident police officers, electric company linemen, doctors, nurses, postal workers, etc., have arguably more work to do when the snowy adventures begin for others. But who among us doesn’t enjoy a grand adventure, especially when someone else cleans up afterward?

In the theological sphere of the gospel of God’s grace the distinction between general work and the redemptive work of Christ comes into greater focus. Someone must do the necessary work eventually. That “someone” ultimately is Christ. He doesn’t sew buttons or deliver the mail on snow days, per se, but he does the necessary work of redemption that not only saves humanity from sin and death but also restores humanity to harmony with God and unity with one another. Before accomplishing ten thousand other benefits to us such as bestowing forgiveness and imparting eternal life, Christ’s redemptive work pleased God.

General work, because it preceded the Fall of humankind, is a blessing from God. Clearly, work was not a result of sin, though it was complicated and frustrated by sin. Adam and Eve were given a two-fold responsibility in their idyllic setting: “to work it and keep it” (Gen. 2:15)—a job description that interestingly applies directly to shepherds, kings, and pastors. Truly, all people have the privilege and responsibility to cultivate and care (i.e., work) for their entrusted section of God’s creation as his representatives. Every vocation is a sacred duty since the basis of all work is to please God who made us and gave us work. However, sin renders us incapable of pleasing God although we remain accountable to please God. 

Thus, original sin was our rebellion against God’s created order, which incurred guilt and resulted in death. But original sin also forfeited our countless joys of fellowship with God and others. When Christ accomplished the work that the Father had given him to do, which was to please God (i.e., “the Son of Man must suffer many things” [Mark 8:31]), he obeyed completely where we disobeyed entirely. His work of pleasing God was accomplished so perfectly that he effectively shares it with those of us who believe in him as our substitute.