The Jews didn't think Jesus was God. They still don't. Neither do the Muslims, Jehovah's Witnesses, and many other groups. Jesus, many say, was a great man, but only that. Not God in the flesh.
Bright and sincere men and women have contemplated long and hard who Jesus is and have reached differing conclusions. In the earliest days of the church, a lot of spiritual and intellectual energy was spent striving to express who Jesus was. Much of the impetus for the statements of understanding, called creeds, came from controversy. For example, around the year 325 AD, a man named Arius denied that Jesus was God. He said Jesus existed prior to Creation, but did not eternally exist with the Father. His famous line regarding Jesus was, "before he was begotten, or created, or purposed, or established, he was not" (from his letter to a man named Eusebius). In other words, there was a time when Jesus did not exist. Therefore, Jesus was not God.
To deal with the conflict of beliefs, the emperor gathered Christian leaders together to work it out. Leaders with great names like Athanasius and Basil declared that Arius missed the bigger picture and, for posterity's sake, a statement needed to be written to make clear the "ortho" (right, true, straight) "doxy" (opinion, praise). The right thinking, or orthodoxy, since then was summarized in the following statement:
"We believe in one God. The Father Almighty. Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the only begotten, begotten of the Father before all ages. Light of Light; true God of true God; begotten not made; of one essence with the Father, by whom all things were made; who for us men and for our salvation came down from heaven, and was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and became man. And He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate, and suffered, and was buried. And the third day He rose again according to the Scriptures; and ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of the Father; and he shall come again with glory to judge the living and the dead; whose Kingdom shall have no end" (emphasis added).
How did they get to this conclusion? They did so from Scripture.
Arius understood "begotten Son" to mean that he was created. The rest of the church leaders understood it to mean that Jesus and the Father were of the same "essence," the same stuff. Just like birds beget birds, so God begets God. Same stuff.
But the opinion that won the day won because of the weight of Scripture is with their conclusion. This morning in church I spoke of a few passages of Scripture that support this. Thomas called Jesus, "My Lord and my God" (John 20:28). The Jews thought Jesus thought he was God when he forgave the sins of a paralyzed man. In their mind, "Who can forgive sins but God alone?" (Mark 2:7). Indeed. Only God can and only God did when Jesus forgave the sins. Jesus was asserting his divine nature.
When we have conversations about Jesus, we must decide for ourselves who Jesus is. Will we go the way of the Jews, Muslims, or Jehovah's Witnesses and say that Jesus was a great and enlightened man? Will we stop there? Will Jesus be ONLY a great man? Or will we go the way of the early church leaders and understand Jesus to be so much more?
I cannot conclude as others have that Jesus is only a great man, miracle worker or righteous man of God. He is so much more. The pastors, elders, leaders and people of this church have not been smushy on this subject. We have declared with full voice that Jesus is God. Jesus is true God of true God, begotten not made and of one "stuff" with God the Father.
When I talk about Jesus, the first thing I try to communicate is that Jesus is my GOD. I hope you do too.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
I've Got Good News
Christian singer and songwriter Chris Rice wrote a song called "Good News." The song is a bluesy piece in which Rice acknowledges that human life is at times difficult, lonely, painful and shameful. He acknowledges that people sometimes "would do anything to lay down their burden," including any number of ways of escaping. He recognizes that people come to church hoping for relief and instead they hear condemnation, as if the Lord is out to get us. But, he writes, the Lord "ain't that way." Then comes the refrain of the song:
‘Cause I've got good news
It’s water for the thirsty
Comfort for the weary
Good news
I’ve got good news
There’s hope and peace and freedom
Jesus came to bring ‘em to you
And ain’t it about time
Ain’t it about time
Ain’t it about time for some good news
Well, I am still in the post-Easter Sunday glow of that good news. It's the ecclesiastical equivalent to the glow of falling in love. Some talk of a post-Easter let down along the lines of post-partum depression. I have a post-Easter love glow.
This glow is fueled by the trip we took into the valley before getting to the mountaintop of Easter morning. In the days leading up to Easter Sunday, we took a journey back to the somberness of that last meal Jesus had with his friends. We got to remember his call for servanthood he modeled as he washed the feet of his friends. We got to remember his command to be wholly committed to the well-being of other believers ("Love one another"). We got to remember the betrayal of Judas, blindness of the Jews and brutality of the executioners. We got to remember the symbolic death intended to shame the victim and warn all others.
Without that stark journey Easter is reduced to Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies with a generalized act of God thrown in to make it vaguely spiritual. To show up on Easter Sunday without that journey is like watching the Super Bowl only as they hand out the Vince Lombardi trophy to the winner. You miss the depth of the moment when you miss the struggle it took to get there. However, with that journey, Easter, well... glows.
And I'm glowing with that good news because I know that no matter what I've done, there's "hope and peace and freedom."
When I was in high school and college, my priorities were not with God. I spoke of this last Sunday. I spoke of drunken days gone by. I spoke of illegal, immoral and irresponsible acts. It was the PG version; we were in church after all. But I also spoke of how grateful to God I am that those things are in my past. I still sin, but I now pray with a throbbing heart the old slaves' prayer:
Oh Lord, I ain't what I want to be
Oh Lord, I ain't what I oughta be
Oh Lord, I ain't what I'm gonna be
But thanks be to you, dear Lord,
I ain't what I use to be
You know this prayer, don't you? In quiet and honest moments, you also know why this prayer matters. In those primordial places in our souls where we know are made for something we’ve never known but for which we always yearn… where we know we live in a land of wandering and can never really feel at home here… where we know something has gone desperately wrong and we cannot put things right… in those deep and often unarticulated places, we come to realize that it is God who is in search of us and God will set right what is so wrong at great cost to himself (and sometimes great pain to us). And what is gone is gone forever, and what will be will be good beyond imagining.
I've got good news. Easter promises that what will be will be good beyond imaging. Easter promises water for the thirsty and comfort for the weary. Easter promises hope and peace and freedom. Jesus came to bring them to you.
‘Cause I've got good news
It’s water for the thirsty
Comfort for the weary
Good news
I’ve got good news
There’s hope and peace and freedom
Jesus came to bring ‘em to you
And ain’t it about time
Ain’t it about time
Ain’t it about time for some good news
Well, I am still in the post-Easter Sunday glow of that good news. It's the ecclesiastical equivalent to the glow of falling in love. Some talk of a post-Easter let down along the lines of post-partum depression. I have a post-Easter love glow.
This glow is fueled by the trip we took into the valley before getting to the mountaintop of Easter morning. In the days leading up to Easter Sunday, we took a journey back to the somberness of that last meal Jesus had with his friends. We got to remember his call for servanthood he modeled as he washed the feet of his friends. We got to remember his command to be wholly committed to the well-being of other believers ("Love one another"). We got to remember the betrayal of Judas, blindness of the Jews and brutality of the executioners. We got to remember the symbolic death intended to shame the victim and warn all others.
Without that stark journey Easter is reduced to Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies with a generalized act of God thrown in to make it vaguely spiritual. To show up on Easter Sunday without that journey is like watching the Super Bowl only as they hand out the Vince Lombardi trophy to the winner. You miss the depth of the moment when you miss the struggle it took to get there. However, with that journey, Easter, well... glows.
And I'm glowing with that good news because I know that no matter what I've done, there's "hope and peace and freedom."
When I was in high school and college, my priorities were not with God. I spoke of this last Sunday. I spoke of drunken days gone by. I spoke of illegal, immoral and irresponsible acts. It was the PG version; we were in church after all. But I also spoke of how grateful to God I am that those things are in my past. I still sin, but I now pray with a throbbing heart the old slaves' prayer:
Oh Lord, I ain't what I want to be
Oh Lord, I ain't what I oughta be
Oh Lord, I ain't what I'm gonna be
But thanks be to you, dear Lord,
I ain't what I use to be
You know this prayer, don't you? In quiet and honest moments, you also know why this prayer matters. In those primordial places in our souls where we know are made for something we’ve never known but for which we always yearn… where we know we live in a land of wandering and can never really feel at home here… where we know something has gone desperately wrong and we cannot put things right… in those deep and often unarticulated places, we come to realize that it is God who is in search of us and God will set right what is so wrong at great cost to himself (and sometimes great pain to us). And what is gone is gone forever, and what will be will be good beyond imagining.
I've got good news. Easter promises that what will be will be good beyond imaging. Easter promises water for the thirsty and comfort for the weary. Easter promises hope and peace and freedom. Jesus came to bring them to you.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Presence of God
In the 1600s, a young man named Nicholas Herman went through a transformation that led him to be one of the most inspiring people throughout the history of the church. Herman eventually became known as Brother Lawrence. Today, he is most commonly remembered for the closeness of his relationship to God as recorded in the classic Christian text, The Practice of the Presence of God.
Here's some of what I have read about his transformation:
As a young man, Herman's poverty forced him into joining the army, and thus he was guaranteed meals and a small stipend. During this period, Herman had an experience that set him on a unique spiritual journey; it wasn't, characteristically, a supernatural vision, but a supernatural clarity into a common sight.
In the deep of winter, Herman looked at a barren tree, stripped of leaves and fruit, waiting silently and patiently for the sure hope of summer abundance. Gazing at the tree, Herman grasped for the first time the extravagance of God's grace and the unfailing sovereignty of divine providence. Like the tree, he himself was seemingly dead, but God had life waiting for him, and the turn of seasons would bring fullness. At that moment, he said, that leafless tree "first flashed in upon my soul the fact of God," and a love for God that never after ceased to burn.
People like John Wesley, founder of Methodism, and influential 20th century American Protestant pastor, A.W. Tozer, both read Brother Lawrence's wisdom and teaching. Both wanted to experience God in the same way Herman did before that tree--both wanted the "fact of God" in the moment to cause their hearts to burn without ceasing.
The fact of God in the moment caused another man's heart to burn with joy. The man was blind and Jesus healed him (John 9). I love the man's response when grilled by the Pharisees on his healing. The man says, in essence, "Look, all I know is I was blind and now I can see." What happened to the man? He encountered God in the flesh. For the rest of the man's life, he could tell the story of the day Jesus came into his life. He could tell of the abject poverty of the life of the blind, what it felt like to be ostracized from society and what it was like to be restored to health and society. God would forever be more than an abstraction. God was present and God acted definitively in healing him. His life would never be the same again.
Think through your own life. Perhaps you have had your own Nicholas Herman moments standing before a mid-winter barren tree when God suddenly crashes into your consciousness. Perhaps you have had your own blindness, likely spiritual blindness, that suddenly the Lord healed. And perhaps as a result of these encounters with God, you now move through your days with a little more awareness of God's presence.
One of the prayers I prayed for years was only seven words long: "Lord Jesus, remind me of your presence." Somehow, no matter what was going on, when I could recall that the Lord was with me in the moment, nothing seemed impossible. No burden seemed too great, no obstacle too large. What I craved then, like now, was an awareness of the presence of God.
As I write, this is the first day of Holy Week 2008. It is Palm Sunday. Even today, even as you read these words, the ever-present God is writing one of the greatest stories ever written. It is the great story called your life. In that story, God is constantly at work and breaking-in so you can see him. Above anything else, that story called your life is a story of faith. Tell others that great story.
May your journey to Easter be filled with awareness of the presence of God.
Here's some of what I have read about his transformation:
As a young man, Herman's poverty forced him into joining the army, and thus he was guaranteed meals and a small stipend. During this period, Herman had an experience that set him on a unique spiritual journey; it wasn't, characteristically, a supernatural vision, but a supernatural clarity into a common sight.
In the deep of winter, Herman looked at a barren tree, stripped of leaves and fruit, waiting silently and patiently for the sure hope of summer abundance. Gazing at the tree, Herman grasped for the first time the extravagance of God's grace and the unfailing sovereignty of divine providence. Like the tree, he himself was seemingly dead, but God had life waiting for him, and the turn of seasons would bring fullness. At that moment, he said, that leafless tree "first flashed in upon my soul the fact of God," and a love for God that never after ceased to burn.
People like John Wesley, founder of Methodism, and influential 20th century American Protestant pastor, A.W. Tozer, both read Brother Lawrence's wisdom and teaching. Both wanted to experience God in the same way Herman did before that tree--both wanted the "fact of God" in the moment to cause their hearts to burn without ceasing.
The fact of God in the moment caused another man's heart to burn with joy. The man was blind and Jesus healed him (John 9). I love the man's response when grilled by the Pharisees on his healing. The man says, in essence, "Look, all I know is I was blind and now I can see." What happened to the man? He encountered God in the flesh. For the rest of the man's life, he could tell the story of the day Jesus came into his life. He could tell of the abject poverty of the life of the blind, what it felt like to be ostracized from society and what it was like to be restored to health and society. God would forever be more than an abstraction. God was present and God acted definitively in healing him. His life would never be the same again.
Think through your own life. Perhaps you have had your own Nicholas Herman moments standing before a mid-winter barren tree when God suddenly crashes into your consciousness. Perhaps you have had your own blindness, likely spiritual blindness, that suddenly the Lord healed. And perhaps as a result of these encounters with God, you now move through your days with a little more awareness of God's presence.
One of the prayers I prayed for years was only seven words long: "Lord Jesus, remind me of your presence." Somehow, no matter what was going on, when I could recall that the Lord was with me in the moment, nothing seemed impossible. No burden seemed too great, no obstacle too large. What I craved then, like now, was an awareness of the presence of God.
As I write, this is the first day of Holy Week 2008. It is Palm Sunday. Even today, even as you read these words, the ever-present God is writing one of the greatest stories ever written. It is the great story called your life. In that story, God is constantly at work and breaking-in so you can see him. Above anything else, that story called your life is a story of faith. Tell others that great story.
May your journey to Easter be filled with awareness of the presence of God.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Our Spiritual Journeys
My contemplative friends tell me that the secret to the spiritual life is to see God in the ordinary. In fact, Delores Leckey in her book 7 Essentials for the Spiritual Journey considers "discovering the sacred in the ordinary" one of the seven essentials for our journeys. But if you're like me, more often than not, I discover the sacred more in the extraordinary than in the ordinary. Rarely have I had spiritual breakthroughs when driving my daughters to lessons or vacuuming out my car. I will say that mowing the grass has been good communion time with God. There is something about the hum of the lawn mower and monotony of walking in circles around the yard that allows my mind to wander.
No, my experiences of God have been through profound moments, good and bad. I have experienced the palpable presence of God at funerals, a few weddings, retreat weekends, and, frequently, during weekend church services. I have also experienced God in the death of my grandmother, birth of my daughters, at a various moments with my wife, Cile, in the 27 years I have known her. My spiritual journey has high water marks in the extraordinary moments.
As I think about spiritual journeys, I am reminded of Abram and his call to leave Haran where he and his father had lived. God simply said, "Go," and Abram went (Gen 12:1-4). Amazing. In a moment told without elaboration as to the details of where he was or how he heard God, Abram heard God and responded with obedience. That is a man keenly aware of the spiritual nature of existence. He would rather be with God in an unknown place than in the safety of the familiar where God did not want him to be.
This morning in church I spoke of our spiritual journeys being either toward God or away from God. Abram's journey, indeed his life, was toward God. Abram's faith is commemorated nearly 2,000 years after his death by the writer of the book of Hebrews in the New Testament who spoke of his obedience to go to Canaan as God asked, to become the father of Isaac, and to offer Isaac as a sacrifice when God tested him (Hebrews 11:8-12, 17-19). Not only did this reveal Abram's faith; it also revealed his view of life. Life is a journey lived with God. Life is a spiritual journey.
I guess today the reality of our spiritual journeys is particularly meaningful to consider for two reasons. First, this morning we heard from 14 year-old Ashley, child of our church whose family I love. She shared some from her journey in the form of a poem. Ashley's teacher asked her to write an "I am" poem. Ashley thought about this and concluded that her life in Christ is the highest expression of who she is. The spiritual nature of her human nature matters more than anything else. So she wrote and turned in to her public school teacher the following poem.
Again, amazing. Fourteen years old and she understands life at a depth some 80 year-olds don't. She got a spontaneous standing ovation at the first service this morning. She understands the spiritual nature of existence.
The second reason this notion of journey impacts me today is because my daughter Christina journeyed back to college today after spring break. She's been home for the past 10 days. It has been great. But now she has gone. It is the painful season of life for Cile and me--our daughters are steadily progressing toward adulthood and our house is getting quieter and quieter. This too is part of the journey. The pattern of life is that one generation tells of God to the next (Psalm 145:4). Cile and I have been doing that in our own home for 18 years and now we hope that pattern is internalized by our own flesh and blood and, in time, they will pass it on as well.
All of this is to say that this life is all about God. Life is an intensely spiritual experience. I hope our "holy conversations" begin with that affirmation.
No, my experiences of God have been through profound moments, good and bad. I have experienced the palpable presence of God at funerals, a few weddings, retreat weekends, and, frequently, during weekend church services. I have also experienced God in the death of my grandmother, birth of my daughters, at a various moments with my wife, Cile, in the 27 years I have known her. My spiritual journey has high water marks in the extraordinary moments.
As I think about spiritual journeys, I am reminded of Abram and his call to leave Haran where he and his father had lived. God simply said, "Go," and Abram went (Gen 12:1-4). Amazing. In a moment told without elaboration as to the details of where he was or how he heard God, Abram heard God and responded with obedience. That is a man keenly aware of the spiritual nature of existence. He would rather be with God in an unknown place than in the safety of the familiar where God did not want him to be.
This morning in church I spoke of our spiritual journeys being either toward God or away from God. Abram's journey, indeed his life, was toward God. Abram's faith is commemorated nearly 2,000 years after his death by the writer of the book of Hebrews in the New Testament who spoke of his obedience to go to Canaan as God asked, to become the father of Isaac, and to offer Isaac as a sacrifice when God tested him (Hebrews 11:8-12, 17-19). Not only did this reveal Abram's faith; it also revealed his view of life. Life is a journey lived with God. Life is a spiritual journey.
I guess today the reality of our spiritual journeys is particularly meaningful to consider for two reasons. First, this morning we heard from 14 year-old Ashley, child of our church whose family I love. She shared some from her journey in the form of a poem. Ashley's teacher asked her to write an "I am" poem. Ashley thought about this and concluded that her life in Christ is the highest expression of who she is. The spiritual nature of her human nature matters more than anything else. So she wrote and turned in to her public school teacher the following poem.
I Am
I am a follower and believer in God
I wonder about the kingdom of heaven
I hear the whisper of his love speaking in my heart
I see the hand of the Lord God Almighty reaching out to me
I want to see his magnificent face
I am a follower and believer in God
I pretend preaching to huge crowds
I feel the Holy Spirit fill my heart with compassion
I touch the hearts of the wounded
I worry about the people who need him
I cry for those who don’t know him
I am follower and believer in God
I understand God’s Holy Word
I say Jesus Christ is the Lord of heaven and Earth, the Messiah
I dream about the throne of which he sits and commands
I try to speak Gods word those who hear
I hope that the world will turn to him and give him praise
I am a follower and believer in God.
I wonder about the kingdom of heaven
I hear the whisper of his love speaking in my heart
I see the hand of the Lord God Almighty reaching out to me
I want to see his magnificent face
I am a follower and believer in God
I pretend preaching to huge crowds
I feel the Holy Spirit fill my heart with compassion
I touch the hearts of the wounded
I worry about the people who need him
I cry for those who don’t know him
I am follower and believer in God
I understand God’s Holy Word
I say Jesus Christ is the Lord of heaven and Earth, the Messiah
I dream about the throne of which he sits and commands
I try to speak Gods word those who hear
I hope that the world will turn to him and give him praise
I am a follower and believer in God.
Again, amazing. Fourteen years old and she understands life at a depth some 80 year-olds don't. She got a spontaneous standing ovation at the first service this morning. She understands the spiritual nature of existence.
The second reason this notion of journey impacts me today is because my daughter Christina journeyed back to college today after spring break. She's been home for the past 10 days. It has been great. But now she has gone. It is the painful season of life for Cile and me--our daughters are steadily progressing toward adulthood and our house is getting quieter and quieter. This too is part of the journey. The pattern of life is that one generation tells of God to the next (Psalm 145:4). Cile and I have been doing that in our own home for 18 years and now we hope that pattern is internalized by our own flesh and blood and, in time, they will pass it on as well.
All of this is to say that this life is all about God. Life is an intensely spiritual experience. I hope our "holy conversations" begin with that affirmation.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Having Holy Conversations
I've been a pastor now for ten years. In these ten years, I have come across person after person who tell me about their personal encounter with God, but explain how there is no place for them to talk about it. For some, their spouses just don't want to hear it. For others, family members are not believers. And for most, no where in their life among believers does anyone get to express their intimate encounters with God.
I hope this blog opens up ideas for how believers can share their stories. It is called holy conversation. The "holy" in holy conversation reminds us that this conversation is about the realities of the wholly other God. When you think about it, all of life fits into this category. All time, matter and space is God's and therefore holy. The "conversation" in holy conversation reminds us that the Christian faith is not just about seeing one's actions, it is also about expressing in human language the deepest realities of existence. It is about telling our stories of faith.
The title and subtitle for this blog is based on Richard Peace's new book of the same name. The book is Dr. Peace's contribution to churches who want to have open conversations about God. The church I serve will be going through this book in small groups and weekend services messages will be on the theme of the week. This blog will parallel that effort.
So this blog is about holy conversation. Let me know what you think as we go along.
I hope this blog opens up ideas for how believers can share their stories. It is called holy conversation. The "holy" in holy conversation reminds us that this conversation is about the realities of the wholly other God. When you think about it, all of life fits into this category. All time, matter and space is God's and therefore holy. The "conversation" in holy conversation reminds us that the Christian faith is not just about seeing one's actions, it is also about expressing in human language the deepest realities of existence. It is about telling our stories of faith.
The title and subtitle for this blog is based on Richard Peace's new book of the same name. The book is Dr. Peace's contribution to churches who want to have open conversations about God. The church I serve will be going through this book in small groups and weekend services messages will be on the theme of the week. This blog will parallel that effort.
So this blog is about holy conversation. Let me know what you think as we go along.
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