The Cross is Not Enough: Why the Christian Story Needs Easter

Five years ago yesterday, the reality of human mortality pierced my soul like a dark, cursed knife that causes no physical harm, but mortally wounds, nonetheless. Before dad died, death was an abstraction, a thing to be vaguely aware of, a philosophical problem to be discussed. Death was a rabid dog, sure, but one who lacked fangs.

Some of us are graced with a life that avoids the pain of death for decades. Some of us face it much earlier. But if there is one thing true about death, it is that none of us can escape it. Before our own deaths, we will all experience that deep puncture of the soul, that knife twisting and doubling us over in pain.

All of us.

We cannot hide.

And great art calls us out of our hiding…even if, at times, it has no solution.

For authors in particular, and therefore for we who enter their stories, death is the great narrative driver. Always the ultimate Dark One, death creates and destroys characters, manipulating plots, and at times leaving us in awe of its power. And so, in any great narrative, it is the one thing that must be defeated if the story is to progress. The grave cannot be the end of our stories.

In the narrative of contemporary Christianity, we are too quick to jump on Christ’s cross as that which secures the afterlife for us. We are waiting for eternity, waiting for the halos and the angels. We are waiting for, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

But what good is the afterlife if death is not defeated? What good is a Messiah who stays in the grave? What difference does forgiven sins make if death still reigns? If we merely go to heaven when we die, then this world is not set right…it’s just forgotten. And if this world is not set right, then God loses! 

This is why the cross is not enough. This is why the Christian story needs resurrection. Because the resurrection says the Dark One cannot win. The cursed knife will be blunted…no, destroyed. The rabid dog with the deadly fangs will be put down. Evil and injustice will not merely cease to exist, they will be put to rights. Justice will prevail in the end, not merely because there will be an absence of evil, but because evil will be defeated.

We are waiting, not for an afterlife where we get to forget about this life. We are waiting for resurrection. A defeat of death, itself. An elimination of it’s power. A memory renewed so that all the death that ever was will be swallowed up in life…not forgotten, but set in a better context. In the context of a God who took on human skin, lived a life of justice in confrontation with evil, died at the hands of that evil, then resurrected from the grave in defeat of the powers of evil. He defeats death. He defeats evil, something we could never do on our own. And then enables us to turn around, and in the power of his Spirit, work for the defeat of death and the defeat of evil in our world.

Death is no abstraction. It is no philosophical concept. It drives our narrative as the great antagonist. But the resurrection of Jesus, soon to be seen, means that the grave is not the end of our stories. Because resurrection is also no abstraction or philosophical concept. It is the great protagonist. Or rather, the One who resurrected is the great Protagonist.

Your days are waiting…to end. But the end is now. Five years ago death became real to me. But in the five years since, resurrection life has become even more real.  Easter Sunday means there is more to the Christian story than the cross. In a sense, the cross is not enough. Without resurrection, our story goes nowhere…it’s a permanent tragedy.

Christ’s Authority to Give Eternal Life to All People: Thoughts on John 17:2

I was reading in Jesus’ prayer from John 17 this morning and came across a phrase my Reformed friends often use to point to election, “For you (the Father) grant him (Jesus) authority over all people* that he might give eternal life to all those you have given him.” (NIV)

I’ve heard John Piper and others talk about this phrase as incontrovertible evidence that the writer of John’s gospel was, indeed, a Calvinist.

I think this verse can be read that way. And in that sense, I wan to be respectful to my Reformed friends.

Nevertheless, I don’t think it has to be read that way. I fact, I think this very verse helps us see an alternative interpretation.

The sentence is divided into 2 phrases: 1. For you grant him authority over all people, and 2. that he might give eternal life to all those you have given him.

If I understand them right, my Reformed friends essentially say that phrase 2 refers to a specific subset of phrase 1. In other words, there’s almost a sort of contrast between the two phrases. They could paraphrase the verses like this, “For you, Father, gave him, Jesus, authority over all people, but specifically, Jesus will give eternal life to only those the Father gave him.”

In this sense, my Reformed friends can maintain that Jesus is the lord of the world, while only being the savior of those whom God unconditionally elected.

But…

…as I said, I don’t think this has to be the only option. In fact, I see no reason to see these phrases as contrasting. Nor do I think phrase 2 refers to a specific subset of phrase 1. And I see no reason to assume the “all” in phrase 2 refers to anything less (qualitatively or quantitatively) than the “all” in phrase 1.

Instead of a contrast, I see a synonymous parallelism.

The parallelism is established by the usage of two key words used in both phrases:  “gave/di,dwmi,” and (as already noted) “all.”**

If the statements are synonymous parallels and not in contrast, then the two phrases essentially become equal: God gave all flesh = all those the Father gave Jesus.

Let me paraphrase John 17:2 like this, “For you, Father, gave him, Jesus, authority over all flesh in order that he might give eternal life to those over whom the Father gave him authority.”

Or, let me say it one other way…

“For you, Father, gave Jesus authority over all flesh in order that he might give eternal life to all flesh.”

The authority Jesus has is SPECIFICALLY FOR THE PURPOSE of bestowing eternal life. That’s the point Jesus is making. And assuming I’m right in this, why in the world would God give him authority to give eternal life to all, but then not give him all for the purpose of eternal life? That just would not make sense.

In other words, I think this verse only makes coherent sense of Jesus’ authority and God’s gifting if, and only if, the statements are intended to by synonymous parallels.

 

So, there you go. I’m not sure if I’m right. I haven’t found a commentator to agree with me…which is always a good sign and a bad sign. So, tell me what you think.

 

* “People” is not John’s word in the Greek. John’s word is sa,rx – flesh.

*Two different Gk. words are used for “all,” but both refer to an all encompassing or holistic reality. In other words, I don’t see any exegetical significance to the word choice here. I think it’s just to break up the monotony. John does that sometimes.

Prayer As Engagement, Not Escape

I’ve always imagined when I’m praying that my spirit is transferred up to the throne room of God in that moment. That while my body is kneeling beside my bed or driving in my car, my spirit is raptured into the holy of holies, into the presence of God…who is there, but not necessarily here. 

For several years now, however, I’ve been increasingly convinced that the biblical idea of “Kingdom of Heaven” is a very this worldly reality. That the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus in this world means that the Kingdom of Heaven is not elsewhere, but present and active here. 

It’s funny how paradigm shifts tend to take a while to apply.

The implications of the hereness of the Kingdom of Heaven immediately convinced me that a place called Heaven is not the ultimate goal of the Christian life. But up until recently my imagination in prayer still took me up to a remote, distant, heavenly throne room.

Reading this morning in the Sermon on the Mount (Jesus’ most explicit delineation of the Kingdom of Heaven!), I saw the error of my praying ways. Jesus prays for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.

The implication here is that prayer, like church gatherings, aren’t mini Christian vacations into heaven. They are not temporary forays into the next life or another world. Prayer, like church gatherings, are a full engagement with this world. Prayer takes place within and for this world. It does not long for a time to escape, it is an expression of a soul already fully engage in God’s redemptive purposes for this world. I love how Eugene Peterson says it, “Prayer is not an escape from what is going on around us. It is gutsy participation in every earthly detail.”

If heaven is God’s throne, then earth is his footstool. And I can pray at His footstool because that’s where God’s feet touch our ground.

To “Hear” and Not “Do” is to to Not “Hear”

Your application might be the most dangerous time of your sermon.

Seriously.

It’s the place in the sermon where you tell people, “Now, here’s what you’re supposed to go do with everything I just told you.”

If you fail to tell people to go do anything, then they leave with a whole lot of head knowledge, but no clear direction for life change. And knowledge without life change is, well, just knowledge….the kind that makes us prideful.

On the other hand, the application part of your sermon is equally dangerous when you do tell people what to go do. It’s dangerous because some people actually go do it!

As I mentioned before, I learned the power of the sermon’s application in a deeply tangible way in Advent, when I said this in my sermon on John the Baptizer’s message to the crowds in Luke 3:10:

“So here’s what I say. I say, begin by taking John’s advice. Go home and look at your house. Start with your closet. Sift through everything you have and ask yourself, “Do I need this? Heck, do I even wear this?” And if the answer is no, then give it away or sell it and give the money away to Anchorage Children’s Home, the Priscilla Home, or the UM Children’s Home…Prepare for a king who was born in extreme poverty by helping out those who are less fortunate than you…It’s awfully hard to celebrate a king who came in poverty when we’re drowning in all our new things.”  

Immediately following the sermon I started getting phone calls, emails, and texts from people telling me they were going to go through their closets and their houses to get rid of extra stuff.

Even more awesome, because of one family’s passion for this, we’re probably going to start a clothing center of some sort (we had our first meeting tonight) to help the less fortunate in our county.

And then I got a phone call from a father just this morning, 2 months after this sermon was preached, telling me that his daughter got around $250 for Christmas, spent half of it on herself, and then asked her father to take the other half and use it to buy Christmas gifts for a teenager he knows who lost both of his parents and is living at a children’s home!

I have been completely amazed at how powerful application can be the last few months. It’s not just a practical “add-on” to the expository truth, it is the point of the truth. Truth must produce life-change.

To “hear” and not “do,” in scripture, is to not really “hear” at all.

Preachers need to know their responsibility both to have application present in their sermons, and also understand the huge impact their application can have in their community. Understand that the application may be the most life-altering thing you say.

And for that reason, the application is possibly the most dangerous part of the message.

 

Your turn…

What is the best sermon application you’ve ever heard? Why did it stick with you all this time? How has it changed your life? 

Isn’t it Ironic? Don’t You Think?

As I reflect on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, I’m reminded that the larger theme of the section within which Luke places this parable is that of great reversals that occur between this life and the next. In particular, the great reversal of, in this life, the rich “receiving good things” and the poor “receiving bad things,” while in the next life the rich “are in agony” and the poor “are comforted.” (Luke 16:25)

The theme, so glaring in this parable, was actually subtly hinted at in the parable of the Shrewd Manager, where the message was, if you, in welcome to the poor, leverage your social status in this life, in the eschatological future, when your social status/wealth mean nothing, the poor will welcome you into eternal bliss.

This is what makes the Shrewd Manager so shrewd.

And this is exactly what makes the Rich Man in this parable foolish.

The two parables/characters are sort of foils or contrasts to one another. I love how my friend Caleb said it in yesterday’s comment section, “This rich man had a great chance during his time on earth to “make friends” with Lazarus by means of his wealth, resulting in the rich man’s being “welcomed into the eternal homes” by Lazarus. Instead, it appears he merely squandered his wealth on himself, leaving Lazarus only the crumbs.”

In the Rich Man and Lazarus, the Rich Man fails to act shrewdly (gain the friendship of Lazarus) with his worldly wealth by leaving the sick, poor, and crippled Lazarus at his very gates. He watches this man day after day get eaten alive by dogs. He watches this man’s life slip away.

And he does nothing about it.

Therefore, when the day comes that they both find themselves in the afterlife, Lazarus is unable to help the Rich Man.

Isn’t it ironic that in life, the Rich Man was able to help Lazarus if he was only willing to show hospitality, but in the next life, Lazarus is unable to help the Rich Man, even if he wanted, because of the Rich Man’s refusal of hospitality while he was living? 

Isn’t it ironic that the gate protecting the Rich Man from outsiders was the very gate that held the possibility of opening to welcome Lazarus to life, but now, the chasm that separates the two men has no possibility of being closed to welcome the Rich Man to life?

Friends, in this life, we have gate, after gate, after gate that creates potential relationships of welcome and humanization. In this life, that gate can remain closed or it can remain open. It’s really our choice now, but it will not be our choice in the next life. Welcome now equates to being welcomed then. That’s the irony of it all. 

When the Tables Get Reversed in Hell

In the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31), Jesus continues his emphasis on this-worldly hospitality’s intimate connection with next-worldly rewards or retribution. I will probably write more on my thoughts on this in the next few days, but as a preliminary discussion, there was something really interesting I observed in the text that I’d like your thoughts on.

The Rich Man and Lazarus have died and gone into the afterlife – Hades, the realm of the dead. But in Hades there seems to be a compartment where the righteous are collected to Abraham’s side, living in comfort. But the wicked are away from Abraham’s side (across a great chasm) in a place of torment.

On the far side of the chasm, the Rich Man looks up and sees Abraham and Lazarus with him. In his torment, he commands (!) Abraham, “Father Abraham, be merciful to me and send Lazarus to get me some water.”

The command to have Abraham “send” Lazarus was initially just interesting to me. I could have read implications into it, but didn’t…at first.

But then I noticed it again in vs. 27, “Send* Lazarus to my father’s house, for I have five brothers.”

That twice the Rich Man tries to get Abraham to “send” Lazarus peeked my interest.

It seems to me, not only is the Rich Man incredibly presumptuous, even in eternal torment, to assume he can command Abraham to do anything. But even more presumptuous, he still assumes Lazarus is beneath him. He is treating Lazarus like a servant, a slave, a messenger boy, someone to do his bidding…someone who only exists for my needs.

Even Abraham he treats as a lesser person. Though he calls him ‘Father,’ he assumes he can command Abraham to obey his imperatives. He even argues with Abraham and tells Abraham that he knows better about what his brothers will or won’t listen to, when it comes to revelation to his five brothers.

Even in his torment, this guy still clings to his supposed superior identity and superior status. And even Hades doesn’t change his attitude. Though he thinks Lazarus is a slave, it turns out he is a slave to himself.

Be careful how you treat people – especially people “beneath” you, people everyone else considers expendable, people everyone else overlooks, people everyone else wants to distance themselves from. The tables may very well be reversed someday.

So you tell me: Tell me about a person you know, who, despite their high status, has done a good job at reaching out toward those people who are “beneath” them? I’d love to have a few models for this. 

*This second time, the Greek verb is a subjunctive, not an imperative, but that’s a little aside from my point here.

What Basketball Taught Me About Preaching #3: 3 Pointers Aren’t Always Necessary

I’m in love with the 3 point shot in basketball. Reggie Miller is my favorite player of all time, followed closely by Larry Bird.

In days yonder, when I had the time, I used to shoot hundreds of 3′s a day.

This obsession with 3 pointers, though, actually blinded me at moments. Anytime the game was on the line and my team was down by two, I wanted to go for the win with a 3 pointer.

But going for the win with a 3 pointer isn’t always the best basketball play. While the 3 pointer is glorious, when the game is on the line and you’re down by two, the best basketball play is to drive the lane for the tie and try to get fouled and thereby get your 3 pointer “and-one” style at the free throw line. When the three pointer works, it is, of course, amazing. But it doesn’t always work. And it’s often counterproductive. Getting to the free throw line and winning the game on point at a time is the best basketball play. 

I don’t think three point sermons are inferior or immature in any way. There are preachers who have made great use of them time and again. In fact, there is an entire generation of preachers that were trained to preach this way: “3 points and a poem.”

I think this kind of preaching has it’s place, and can often win the game.

But I also want to contend that, valuable as they are, 3 point messages don’t always win on Sunday mornings. Sometimes the best thing to do is get in the lane, get fouled, and try to win the game at the line – one point at a time.

If your sermon has one, clear, well stated point, your audience is a lot more likely to walk away remembering what you said and knowing how to apply it.

I’ve heard a ton of 3 point sermons in my life. And I’m sure they’ve been helpful to me. But I don’t remember any of them. 

But when I’ve heard 1 point sermons, with that point clearly articulated, I remember them so much longer and more easily. 

Andy Stanley says it this way, “If you have three points, you have three sermons.” I think he’s right.

Sometimes 3 pointers win the game. But more often than not, getting to the free thow line and shooting for the win one point at a time is the way to go.

It’s a shame Reggie can’t help us shoot game winning 3′s. 

Idolatry: Both Horizontal and Vertical

I don’t know if I’m right in the following thoughts. These are just some connections I’ve been making in my own mind and blogging seemed to be a good place to lay them out there. As I’ve been reading in Romans 1, the thought occurred to me, the problem with idolatry isn’t just giving allegiance to another deity (bad as that is). The problem of idolatry in Paul’s perspective is that the idols imprison the truth in injustice.

That is, idolatry is the manifestation and cause of a world where both individuals and communities practice injustice against one another and thereby deny the truth of one another’s humanity. It is the manifestation and cause of a world where neither individuals nor communities can challenge or change (or even desire to change) these unjust practices and structures that dehumanize people created in God’s image.

The truth, both on an individual and collective level, becomes imprisoned within the unjust practices and agendas of various human cultural systems. And therefore the truth is not readily obvious – for we have traded what could be known about God for gods made in our own image, gods that will support rather than challenge our unjust hearts and communities.

Wrath then becomes God’s response to human injustice. Wrath is not the unbridled passion of a heartless God. It is the inevitable outcome of a God who values just relationships both on vertical (human to God) and horizontal (human to human) planes. Wrath exists because human injustice is so grave and terrible, and our hearts so apt to imprison the truth in injustice such that we can never see the truth about ourselves or God, that creation itself becomes perverted and inverted.

And this inversion of creation takes us back to idolatry, specifically the collective idolatry of the entire human race. It is an idolatry which perpetuates and is perpetuated by injustice.

Even in the OT, idolatry wasn’t just about the differences between Yahweh and the pagan deities. Rather, in scripture, idolatry always carries with it the practical implications of unethical behavior, specifically blood shed unjustly. In other words, idolatry is both a violation of a person’s vertical relationship with God and also a violation of their horizontal relationship with other persons. When we imprison truth in injustice, this is not just a violation of our relationship with God, but is a violation of our relationships with those created in his image.

Idolatry is thus dehumanization of my neighbor (among other things).

I therefore maintain, that even if one calls on Jesus and then uses the name Jesus to dehumanize another person, or somehow uses Jesus to promote injustice, then that person is participating in idolatry even if they are using the right language. The God of scripture cannot be reduced to my ideological agenda, he will not be shackled to anyone’s unjust causes, and he will not be associated with the dehumanization even of my enemy. Idolatry is, therefore, both a horizontal and a vertical injustice.

 

So, what do you think? Do you have anything to add to this random collection of thoughts? Where have you seen idolatry and injustice combined in obvious ways? How does this change the way we talk about the gospel?

Your Money is Worthless Here: Winning Friends and Losing Social Status Pt. 2

The other day I came across Luke 16:9: “I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.”

I’d never noticed that text before and it kind of threw me for a loop. I wrote a blog piece on how the larger structure of Luke’s last few chapters inform how this verse is to be read. Namely, I said, that the point Jesus is making here is about how one uses their wealth – namely to invite persons to the table who are excluded from “proper” society.

As I’ve been reflecting more on the passage and doing some reading on it, it’s come to my attention (props to Joel Green) that vs. 9 actually has a structural parallel with vs. 4: “I know what I’ll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.”

The parallelism helps establish the foundation of Jesus’ point. Jesus is not primarily concerned with just inviting excluding persons to the table (important as that is to the larger context), but he goes a step further. The larger problem here is one of long term hospitality. The Shrewd Manager will have no where to live, so he reduces the debt these others persons owe so that when the time comes they will view him in a positive light and offer him a place to live.

When Jesus interprets the parable in vs. 9, then, he isn’t jus saying “invite outsiders to your table.” He is saying, “Use your money now to help people who can’t reciprocate, so that when the day comes that your money is worthless (the next age) you will have long term (i.e. eternal!) hospitality extended to you by those who cannot reciprocate now.

Notice who will be doing the welcoming, offering the long term hospitality in eternity. It is those very people who were excluded, marginalized, oppressed, and forgotten by “proper” society.

In eternity, it will not just be God who hosts. Tax collectors, sinners, the forgotten, and the broken will be saying, “Your money is worthless here. You befriended us before. Our tables are always open to you.”

*Thank you to Bryne for making the observation that called me deeper into the passage.

Musings on the Message #8: The Word Made Flesh

Christian preaching is sacramental.

What I mean here by “sacramental” is that when Christian preaching occurs Christ is both proclaimed and proclaiming. Christ is present in the sermon. The sermon is the means by which He is revealed as present to the congregation. Every time Christ is preached people can leave the service announcing that they heard Christ on this day – they heard him preaching.

The preacher and the Word made flesh are brought into a sacramental union during the proclamation in such a way that, though Christ uses the preacher’s voice, it is Christ Himself proclaiming Himself.

But Christ is also in the congregation. The Spirit of Christ dwells within them and when it hears Christ proclaim himself, the Spirit desires to respond and accept the word.

Christ’s presence within the sermon, the preacher, and the congregation is one often overlooked and lost in our homiletical theology and ecclesiology. But without it, I don’t think the sermon is either preachable nor hearable.

In a church world where preaching is reduced to entertainment and audiences are reduced to passive recipients, a sacramental view of preaching provides an avenue by which we can once again begin to take preaching seriously both as speakers and hearers. And more than that, I think it’s another avenue by which preaching can regain a place at the worship table as a necessary aspect of Christian worship – not just a boring afterthought to the cool music.

Preaching is at it’s best when speakers and hearers deem it important to abandon themselves to the Triune God and dwell in His narrative of creation, redemption, and consummation. A narrative proclaimed, embodied (sacramentalized), and given life in the sermon.