Unholy Euphoria?

It has been approximately ninety minutes since I witnessed firsthand Baylor’s football team upset the top-ranked Kansas State Wildcats in a dominating performance. I attended the game, along with a fellow English grad student Jeremy Larson, and we had a marvelous time. College football being what it is, the crowd was going nuts the entire game. I was hugging Jeremy and high-fiving perfect strangers as we exulted in each Baylor touchdown and defensive stand, and wailed each time K State seemed to gain an advantage. Thankfully, the Wildcats never made a game of it in the second half, and the margin never dipped below double digits. Jeremy indicated a desire to rush the field along with half the stands, a tradition when a major upset occurs on the underdog’s home turf (artificial though it may be). I demurred, wishing to avoid being swallowed in a sea of madly rejoicing and delirious college students for no other reason than to say I did. Ultimately, neither of us did, but we watched in tolerant amusement as the stands slowly emptied with students surging toward the field as the clock ticked down to zero, even while disgruntled and disconsolate Wildcat fans trudged toward the exits. 

Afterward, as we boarded a shuttle to carry us back to campus, Jeremy inquired about my church attendance, whether I had settled on a place. I expressed my decision to attend Antioch Community Church, a charismatic and non-denominational church that might be labeled seeker-friendly by those who disapprove of the decorum and enthusiasm of the worship. I expounded on my experience at his church of choice, Redeemer Presbyterian, and the objections I felt about several aspects of the service. After discussing a sermon that seemed to miss the mark in a fashion, I also explained that I wanted a more lively, passionate worship service than Redeemer proffered. Jeremy was gracious and assented that Presbyterians were not known for their outbursts of enthusiasm when singing and praising God.

On a side note, which is not wholly unrelated, the infamous, perhaps notorious, Westboro Baptist Church from Kansas was rumored to be picketing the game somewhere. Apparently their rabble-rousing message was that, among other things, people should not worship sports. Most of us would dismiss such a notion posthaste, calling it divisive, intolerant, puritanical, perhaps purposefully isolationist. I enjoy sports greatly, and again was enraptured by the events that transpired. 

As I lay in bed still flushed with emotion, or at least the aftermath of riotous joy, I was struck by the incongruity of my objection to Redeemer and my experience at the game. Here I had rejected the church because of a lack of excitement on the part of parishioners and the worship team, and yet I had gone bonkers over a football game, acting far more excited and enthusiastic when the team scored a touchdown than I can ever remember being in a worship service, no matter where. I shudder to admit this, but could Westboro have a point? Could the same people who spew hatred and bile and bigotry under the auspices of the Church be right to a degree? Was I being hypocritical and engaging in idolatry?

Well, to ask if I was being hypocritical and idolatrous is superfluous and redundant: I most certainly have been, and still can behave as, a hypocrite and a idolater. I admit it freely because only when we acknowledge that a problem exists can we begin to address it. If the measure of my enthusiasm is to be seen in how much I shout and exult at meaningless things like sports, as opposed to my behavior about God and His plans and Word and works, then clearly I invest far too much passion in the dross of life than in the reality of God. What, in the final scheme of things, does a football game’s outcome matter to my relationship with Jesus Christ?

Not a whole lot.

Now, some of you may be saying, aren’t you being a little puritanical yourself? What’s the harm in enjoying harmless diversions like sports? God the comic killjoy again? But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not like Augustine, who regarded any time and energy spent away from learning about, communicating with, or talking about the things of God to be wasted and borderline-sinful. In order to maintain flawless attention on God we would have to be perfect in our thoughts and self-discipline, and I am of the belief that Jesus wants the distractions in our lives to be present so that when we are engaged with God we are making that conscious choice. As we were saved, so should we also walk with Him, and we made the choice to be saved, we chose Him. He wants us to choose Him. And for us to choose Him, we must have the option of not choosing Him. So the life monastic is not, I think, the answer.

Isn’t it interesting and instructive how my immediate response after saying that is again to caution against the opposite extreme? I just argued against one extreme, of removing oneself from the world, and now I am impelled to counsel against the opposite extreme. So much of the time is spent vacillating between extremes, never finding a happy middle ground. And so I also want to caution against the argument that we should seek out potential earthly idols and expose ourselves to as many distractions as possible simply so we can choose our posture toward God over the world. No, no, such an argument is the mark of immaturity, like those who recoil from the grace message by suggesting that what we do on earth sin-wise doesn’t matter because, “hey, we’re forgiven, we’re under grace and not the Law, so let the sin begin!” On the contrary, sin and distractions will never be thin on the ground as long as we are bound by this mortal coil. Even if a monastic life were possible, I find that my thoughts and emotions can distract me from focusing on the Father just as efficiently and effectively as a movie or books or relationships. Don’t seek out potential worldly idols for the sake of rejecting them; rather, seek to walk with the Lord as continuously as possible, and when distractions appear, when idols present themselves for worship, as they inevitably shall, then make the choice to worship Him alone who is worthy of all worship and praise.

Have I strayed from my point? Not in the least. We’re considering whether my euphoria was appropriate, and whether I should regret not feeling similar ecstasy worshiping God. I am writing now on Sunday night, a day after the game, and after attending a steamy Sunday service (the preacher spoke about sex). Sometimes God provides an answer for a question almost as soon as it crosses my path. During the worship portion, we sang a song called “The Great I Am.” It’s a great song; what I particularly appreciate about it is that, unlike so many modern choruses, it contains lots of clear and overt references to the Bible and names of God. And during the song, I was so moved that I began to weep; I could not control myself. The reality of God and who He is penetrated to my utmost depths in a way that nothing else can. 

And I realized that while sometimes we do get excited about God in the same passion that one might see at a football game, such excitement is rather transitory and shallow. I will always have the memory of the game last night, but in terms of lasting impact upon me, it is essentially meaningless. But God has been progressively untwisting my heart and replacing the stony, fearful heart that spurned and fled from emotion for much of my life these past couple years, and experiences like the one I had this morning, or others I’ve had at my old church in KC or in the fellowship of friends are flashes of heaven, sprinkles of healing on my heart, glimpses of God that, infinitesimal as they may be, are almost more than I can bear. And are promises of things to come. 

I can give no hard and fast rule on what you should watch or experience in life. When comparing the two experiences, the earthly one cannot help but reveal its utter hollowness and meaninglessness beside the holy one, and I can appreciate the one for what it is, an enjoyment of life, while treasuring the other for what it portends, the life of Christ in me, changing me, making me new, uniting me with the Great I Am. 

Hallelujah, holy holy, God Almighty, Great I Am

Who is Worthy? None beside Thee, Lord Almighty, Great I Am…

Of Friends and Strangers: A Self-Rebuke

Recently I have made the acquaintance of a person down here in Waco. This person has prompted me to consider the idea of friendship, fellowship, and how the Fall has twisted and warped these concepts. 

Let’s begin with a portrait of this person. They (the gender neutral) possess an exceedingly cheerful attitude, brightly greeting me when I enter their presence with the utmost sincerity. They treat everyone with a close attention that suggests a deep interest in that person. They are quick to laugh and join in frivolities, even at their own expense. Another acquaintance has described them as “a Disney prince/princess” (it was one or the other; again I’m trying to be coy). That irrepressible kindness exudes from their face, and they sit with proper posture and poise. The phrase popularized by Mary Poppins comes to mind: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

They do not engage in coarse language or swearing; one gets the impression that they grew up in what might be called a sheltered environment. Despite this, they have an understanding and acceptance even for those whose attitude and behavior they might disapprove of in principle. They treat everyone with respect and kindness.

Do you have a clear picture of this person? The impression that always strikes me when I interact with them is that of a slightly dense student interacting with a brilliant and kindly student who works hard and is eager to assist those disadvantaged whom they meet. This person turned to me today, during a lull in the conversation, and clarified a point that had apparently bothered them ever since they and I had a lengthy conversation about our respective backgrounds. I had mentioned the period of trials and tribulations through which I have recently passed during this chat, and this person, several weeks later, took pains to assure me that they were not indifferent to this element of my life, and to correct any impression they might have given that they did not wish to hear of this interlude. I assured them that I had not gotten any such impression from our prior conversation, and we ended with amicable words. Again, a universal aspect of any interaction with this person. 

Afterward, I mused on the sort of person who would do such a thing, to correct an imagined slight that one might have given more in the absence of seeking information than in overly prying for it. I bethought, Is this indicative of a certain egoism on this person’s part, that they were so focused on what they said or did not say during an interaction that they would revisit it weeks later and redress a possible offense? I have in fact done this very thing, and so can speak about it with some authority; my own self-criticism is so acutely aware of trying to say the right thing, do the right thing, to avoid giving offense, that I will replay conversations in my mind and evaluate my performance. Not even in the context of a job interview or date, when it might seem reasonable to do so, but just in regular discourse with friends and family. This springs from an insecurity which I have documented in previous posts, so I don’t feel the need to do so. 

I then embarked upon a lengthy reflection upon this person’s suitability as a friend. My thoughts initially wandered, and wondered, towards the concept of how one makes a friend. E.g., normally a person displays deep interest and genuine affection for someone else as a prelude or consequence of friendship; you meet someone, you get to know them, and eventually you develop a bond in which you can begin to expose your own heart and mind, and become affectionate toward them while having it reciprocated.

My friends in Kansas City serve as excellent examples of this. For instance, Caleb Egli and his wife Rebecca became my dear friends during the last year or so of my stay there. Soon we would meet with an embrace (sometime inappropriate on Caleb’s part), tease each other, laugh and cry (mostly on my part) with each other, and grow into each other’s lives. This is the normal concourse of friendship. But at the beginning, we had to establish a connection, a commonality, before affection and intimacy could be established. True, it took less time and effort, and the connection went deeper, than has been my normal experience, but the stages of friendship were still consistent. 

In regard to the person described above, however, the fact that they immediately display kindness and interest in perfect strangers led me to wonder how one would ever know that one had reached that more intimate level with this person. After all, if you treat everyone like a good friend, how do you treat your good friends? If on the scale of friendship (1 is a perfect stranger, 10 is as intimate as it is possible to be with someone) most people start at a 1 or 2, maybe a 3, and this person seems to start at a 5, which is where most people’s friends would fall other than the best friends, then what would a good friend of this person experience? The same level of affection and attention that a random person walking in to their work place receives? 

Of course, an alternate theory might suggest that this person lets no one reach deeper levels other than maybe family members and a childhood bosom buddy. It’s possible, I suppose, but I can’t imagine such a warm and welcoming person not craving for those deeper relationships beyond the surface level. 

All this flashed through my mind fairly quickly; the curse of writing is that it usually takes five times longer to explain what you’re thinking than it took to think it. The thought floated through my head that this was perhaps a disingenuous way to go through life. You have to treat some people as strangers, after all. Otherwise, what’s the point of having friends if you treat everyone like a friend? 

Almost immediately a rebuke smote me. Do you see it?

This, I think, is a diabolical perspective, a consequence of the Fall. The answering rebuke asked, Well, why shouldn’t we treat everyone like a friend? Why do we feel the need to throw up walls between ourselves and everyone else, and only lower them once the prospective friend has passed the evaluation period? It’s a natural instinct in most people, but does that make it right? Or to put it in Christian terms, aren’t we supposed to love our neighbor? Not to like our neighbor, not to tolerate or be nice to our neighbor, but to love our neighbor? And that is what shook me; this person seems to genuinely love everyone. Not in gushy, effusive, sloppily emotional sense, but in the sense that they direct their full attention, interest, and philios love toward anyone they meet. 

I imagine that this person probably leaves a fragrance of Christ wherever they go. Shouldn’t all believers do that?

Did you sign up to be Jesus?

Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. John 14:2.

This passage always struck me as overly optimistic of Jesus, or at least narrowly applied. After all, Jesus did some pretty amazing things, and while select saints through the ages have done remarkable things as well, it’s been hard to accept this as a blanket statement applicable to the Church universal. I certainly cannot say that I have seen this evidenced in my own life.

Of course, the notion of what it means to be a Christian, namely that we allow Christ to live His life through our bodies in a very literal and practical sense, would seem to provide an answer to this quandary. If Jesus did those things while on earth, and He lives in us while we live on earth, then he can do the same things or even greater things as we make ourselves available to Him. I get that.

But “even greater things that these”? That’s a pretty bold statement for the Son of God to make. Basically, “you’re going to do more astounding and revelatory and miraculous things then I did to convince you that I am the Son of God, and therefore, God.” And it seemed to me that Jesus was perhaps just trying to buck up the troops, stir our spirits to avoid those feelings of helplessness that so often overwhelm us.

But this evening a thought occurred to me that put a whole new spin on this. If every Christian is supposed to be the embodiment of the Spirit of God on earth, like Jesus was, if we’re all going to be the ambassadors of God to the world like Jesus was, the thought went, if in essence we’re all going to be little jesuses (or “christians” aka christlings) then what really is happening is that there will be a hundred Jesuses in the local church, a thousand in the town, a million in the country, a billion in the world.

A billion Jesuses.

Isn’t that something? We marvel at what one Jesus did in three years with no technology or global outreach, without the New Testament to read or the history of the Church to learn encouragement and humility from. Even if none of the billion Jesuses are as perfect and submissive as Jesus Himself, if we’re only a quarter as obedient, that’s still a quarter of a billion Jesuses on earth.

And maybe this is one of the ways in which we will do greater works than the one Jesus who started it all. By sheer numbers! Now don’t get me wrong; this only works insofar as we are walking in surrender to the life of Jesus in us. Down through the ages well-meaning (or not) Christians have done incalculable damage to the name of God through their own misguided efforts to forward the Kingdom according to their own wills and intentions. And misguided is the absolutely correct term, since they are being guided by their own flesh that they’re trying to rehab into perfection, instead of giving up on ever saving the Sin-man and exchanging their wills for God’s will. That’s what Jesus did; more to the point, that how Jesus did what He did on earth. If we don’t realize and accept and obey that principle, then we’re a billion Sin-men and –women trying to do God’s work our own way, and Jesus is not going to show up for that.

But imagine what the Church would be like (I mistyped “life” there, but it’s appropriate) if we all strove to cease striving, we all tried to give up, we all decided to surrender our will, and let Jesus be Jesus in and through us. What could an army of Jesuses do in this world? Care to find out?

Old and New: Star Wars and the Polemics of Change

I am a Star Wars fan. Not a fanatic, but a fairly sizeable fan. I was beyond psyched to see the releases of the Special Editions of the original trilogy, and despite the problems I had with the tweaks George Lucas made on them, eagerly awaited the prequels, Episodes I-III. Need I say that I was severely disappointed with the results? 

I’ve mostly moved on from the debacle that was the Prequilogy, the way one moves on after the house one grew up in is demolished to put in a convenience store. (Though I still nurse a distant grudge against GL for, well, everything connected with the second trilogy; I fantasize about blowing up that convenient store like Martin Blank). (If you don’t get that reference, it’s okay). (But you should watch the movie Grosse Point Blank). (Like, immediately). 

Visiting my good friends the Eglis, we were browsing through Netflix for a suitable diversion when Caleb recommended a documentary called The People vs. George Lucas. This film, which may interest even the uninterested newcomer to all things Star Wars, served to reopen many of the wounds of the past, as well as introduce some new ones. (Thanks, Caleb). The filmmakers interview myriad fans and connoisseurs of Star Wars and popular culture, charting the history of the original trilogy up to present day. And the essence of the story revolves around the right of George Lucas to change the universe of Star Wars to suit his own designs, not only in the new movies and shows that have come out in recent years, but in his updating of the original movies. There is an almost universal loathing of Lucas for his treatment of the fans’ sensibility, at least according to them. And some of the clips they insert of Lucas himself don’t help dispel the image of him as an egomaniacal control freak consumed with squeezing every possible cent out of the tortured fans that made him an icon in films.

Afterward, I was discussing it with the gracious hosts and happened to mention that there seems to be a strange parallel to the Jewish religious rulers’ (and, I’m sure, many of the common people who made up their congregations) reactions to the Incarnation and the inevitable obsolescence of the Old Covenant. And I thought it might be interesting and possibly instructive to explore this analogy further.

In the beginning there was an original doctrine laid down by the creator. God gave the Ten Commandments as well the Levitical practices for offering sacrifices. These were the precepts by which man could expunge his guilt and sin before God. Similarly, Lucas gave the original trilogy of movies, which created a cultural phenomenon and served as a seminal touchstone in a great many people’s lives.

Also, once the originator finished laying down the first words, the adherents began to expand upon what was originally communicated. The six hundred and fourteen laws that existed by the time Jesus walked into the Temple were the exhaustive attempts by man to improve upon God’s laws. Similarly, fans throughout the years began to write books, to recreate the original stories, as well as create fictionalized tales of Lucas’ early days and how he created the Star Wars saga. By the time the next trilogy came out, dozens, possibly hundreds of novels were on shelves featuring the characters originally from the film, along with new characters, adventures, and conclusions beyond anything Lucas could have possibly anticipated.

Next, the creator made some changes. (Do bear in mind this is an imperfect analogy. Don’t get riled if I seem to suggest blasphemous analogous elements; such is not my intention). God, who had always been a monotheistic deity (in fact, this aspect of the Hebrew religion is what differentiated them from every other world religion heretofore), introduced a Son, who also introduced a Spirit, thus creating a Trinity in the person of Father-Son-Holy Spirit. This was a major departure from the way Jews had always understood God; the religious rulers of the day used this blasphemy to justify killing this upstart preacher from Nazareth.

Similarly, Lucas changed some elements in the original trilogy, sprucing it up to appear more modern and technologically advanced. Further, he caused a quiet outrage by explaining the Force, the source of the Jedi’s power, not by means of a spiritual or mental power, but rather made up of microscopic particles call midichlorians, thus allowing a rational, biological explanation for a philosophical quandary (namely, “What is the Force?).  Fans were incensed.

And this is where the true similarity appears to me, what originally got this concept rattling in my brain. Because I watched the fans rant and rage about what had been done to the stories they loved so much, how Lucas had betrayed their trust with the Special Edition Original Trilogy, then the Prequels, coupled with the incessant and ubiquitous marketing and commercialization of the saga while simultaneously ignoring fan sentiment. It was fascinating and not a little instructive that Lucas refuses to release the original trilogy in the most updated format as they were originally aired in theatres, only providing the updated versions, the “true” versions that he wanted to release back then but didn’t or couldn’t. Much was made of this fact in the film, the outright disdain which Lucas seems to view the fans while he still attempts to cajole them into buying whatever products he releases. The creator does his own thing, and the acolytes utterly reject it.

Sound familiar? The Jewish religious leaders were by far the driving force that put Jesus on the cross, and continued their persecution of the early Christian church. The new doctrine of the New Covenant, that Jesus the Messiah had come and provided victory over death, a final sacrifice for sin, and a direct relationship to God the Father for everyone, directly threatened the status quo that the Pharisees and Sadducees used to obtain wealth and influence. If men didn’t need to offer sacrifices or sojourn to the Temple to communicate with God through His appointed leaders, then the priests would have to find another line of work, and one that probably wouldn’t give them the status to which they were accustomed. Small wonder they so vehemently rejected the Gospel.

Perhaps herein lies the lesson: in certain circumstances, good can become ossified to the point where it is no longer good. And when change comes, those who attach too much importance on what came before resist that change to their own detriment. And I say this as one who falls much more into the betrayed, outraged camp than one who had no problem with the new movies. Interestingly enough, kids like the new movies, kids with no deep attachment to the previous movies, who take things as they come and enjoy things for what they are. Part of my disappointment with the new movies was my expectations that they would be like the old movies. But everything had changed since the original movies were made: the culture, the technology, the fans, the actors, Lucas himself, the community of the Star Wars universe. It was rather ridiculous to imagine that the new movies would resemble the old. Ossification.

And the Old Covenant was incomplete precisely because it was originally intended to be merely a shadow, a picture, a map, an analogy of the coming Messiah Jesus. The sacrifices, the various precepts, the symbols, everything about the Old Covenant paved the way for the New Covenant. The Old Covenant was like hearing someone describe a foreign country; no matter how great the detail or evocative the language of the description, it’s not the same thing. The New Covenant was actually going to the place, seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, savoring the smells, soaking in the atmosphere. It’s everything the description said it would be, but oh so much more! It’s 2D vs 3D. It’s life vs. a pale imitation.

(Though don’t mention 3D to Lucas; he’ll try to release all six movies in 3D. Anything for a buck. Yeah, I’m still bitter).