Christian Leadership as Missional Construction

I’ve been reading and grading some very interesting papers that deal with Christian leadership. As always, the students cause me to learn new things, and here’s what I’m thinking about this morning.

The interplay between Christian leaders and those they lead might be analogous to a team building a house for Habitat for Humanity. Christian communities often have seminary-trained leaders among them, whose counterparts would be seen as the professional builders who guide the projects for Habitat. In each case, the role of the leaders is to use training and expertise to draw people together into a common mission. Not everyone has to be a specialist, but without the leaders there is a lack of direction, focus, and skill.

For the builders, the end product is a habitable dwelling. For the Christian leaders, the end is a missional community. In both cases, neither the leaders nor those being led do what they do for their own sake. The builders will not live in the house; the house is for someone else. The Christians will have a community, but it is not primarily for them; it is for the sake of the world.

New Names and the Aroma of Christ

Some followers of Jesus look back on their lives and carry regrets about decisions made and not made, obediences abandoned, and calls unfulfilled. Sometimes we wonder if we let God down along the way and if our wrong turns—innocent or not—have put us on a paths that make us, at best, second class citizens in the kingdom of God.

I was helped in my own struggle in this area while reading a familiar text in 2 Corinthians. Here it is:

When I came to Troas to proclaim the good news of Christ, a door was opened for me in the Lord; my mind could not rest because I did not find my brother Titus there. So I said farewell to them and went on to Macedonia. (2 Corinthians 2:12-13)

I suddenly realized that Paul stepped back out of the door that the Lord had opened. Was this a confessional statement? Was Paul sharing a hint of regret about abandoning the work in Troas because he was lonely for his friend Titus? Maybe so.

But in the next statements, Paul offers a reframing of the situation and paints a much larger picture of God’s work in the world and how followers of Jesus participate in that work:

But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him. (v. 14)

For Paul, getting things right all the time was not the most important thing. The most important thing was, no matter the time or place, to carry the fragrance of Christ.

The most important thing is to smell like Jesus.

We’ve all turned one way when God seemed to be leading the other way. We’ve all lost heart and changed direction, more out of pain and fear than out of the conviction of God’s direction. And we’ve all carried the regrets that remind us of what should have been, what might have been, and where we’ve failed.

But none of those things are the most important. What is important is that we continue, even in our failures, to smell like Jesus.

In yesterday’s post I suggested that Evangelicals need a new name. What if Evangelicals were no longer known by the world because of their political power base, their particular doctrinal convictions, or their perceived knowledge of who is in or out with God? What if they were know as the one who carried with them, in all circumstances, the fragrance of Christ?

Evangelicals Need a New Definition

And maybe even a new name.

I once asked a group of Catholic friends how they defined the term evangelical, and they saw it as identical to fundamentalist. Each one had a story of an evangelical cousin or uncle who hammered them at every family gathering, insisting that Catholics were on a sure pathway to Hell. For these folks, evangelical brought up descriptors such as judgmental, condemning, and mean.

If I’m reading the political pundits correctly, evangelical is a term that refers to a block of USAmerican voters that conflates nation and religion, lining up with the extreme right of the political spectrum. Evangelicals appear to hold a great deal of power in making or breaking particular political campaigns.

I’ve heard others say that evangelicals are the folks who hold to a wooden and hyper-literal view of all aspects of the Bible, see the theory of penal substitutionary atonement as a theological hill to die on, and have a clear understanding of who is in and who is out with God.

I am saddened by what I see in these descriptors. If these are what define evangelical, then I don’t want to be one.

But none of these are proper definitions of the word. The word evangelical comes from a Greek word (used in the New Testament) that means good news. When Jesus, in Mark 1:15 says, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news,” the term “good news” utilizes that Greek word.

It’s actually an ancient term with military implications. After a battle, a runner would leave the front lines and bring news of the outcome to the military leaders. If the battle had been won, then it was good news. The messenger was the good news bringer. The messenger was the person who bore witness to the good thing that had happened.

This meaning is at the heart of the word that we now call evangelical. To be evangelical is to be the bearer of the same good news that Jesus brought: That the kingdom of God is at hand. It is to speak of a reality that has already come to pass. Keeping in mind that those folks who don’t like the idea of God’s rule and reign (perhaps like the army who lost the ancient battle) might not hear the message as good news, it is proclaimed nonetheless because it is believed by the messenger to be true.

The message granted to us is not one of political power or domination; it is not about who has been assigned to heaven or to hell; it is not license to stand in judgment over anyone. It is a message that is intended for the good of all, and it is one to be both proclaimed and demonstrated.

If the earlier definitions I offered hold sway, then I suggest we find a different word with a proper definition. It would be a shame to lose a word that is rich with meaning and purpose, but it might have to happen. There is some biblical precedent for such a change: The ancient Hebrews became Jews; the followers of The Way became Christians. It has happened before.

I don’t have a replacement term. But maybe one might emerge if we Christians, rather than being known by our political preferences, or by our tendency toward judgmentalism, or by our rigid theologies, we were known by our love. I wonder what would happen then. Maybe those who are impacted by that love would hear that good news and offer a new name to us.

Let’s give it a shot.

A Good Friday Reflection on Death

Why does anyone have to die?

The obvious answer is that all people must ultimately die. The joyful celebration of birth is always shadowed by the grim reality of death. For every new human life that appears, a corresponding grave will be dug. The end of life is a surety, and it is guaranteed that each will have a trajectory of its own.

But the general and abstract acceptance of death is not what really troubles us. It is the death of someone who matters, someone we have come to love and value. It is the death of a cherished person that tears at our hearts and causes us to ask,
Why this one? Does this death mean something?

We look for meaning in death because we have a difficult time believing that death just happens. We project intentions and purposes onto God in order to explain why our loved one left us too soon, why thousands were swept away by natural disasters, why a person who has contributed generously to others would suffer a wasting disease and then disappear from our midst. We look for answers when we experience these losses, and the rationales offered by well-meaning (and not so well-meaning) people do not generally bring comfort.

It is common for people of faith to attempt theological responses to these questions. Some of these answers suggest things about God that might cause us to wonder if this God is different than Jesus described as the one “who so loved the world” (John 3:16), or as the one characterized in First John as the very essence of love (1 John 4:7-8). We sometimes hear of a God who allows a beloved child to die so that the family will learn some important lessons, or that the death of thousands by tsunami or earthquake is a result of God’s retributive wrath, or that God has in mind a greater good that requires the taking of a human life. These responses are often the product of a narrative that is unable to tolerate mystery or to accept the randomness of evil and suffering.

In Luke chapter 13 there is a scene involving some people who ask Jesus about the deaths of some local Jews—one violent episode that occurred at the hands of the local Roman governor, and another tragic accident involving the collapse of a tower. Jesus’ response suggests that his questioners were looking for the meaning behind the tragedies:

He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? . . . Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem?” (Luke 13:2-4)

Jesus refuses to assign to these losses the deeper meaning that his questioners desire. He merely tells them, in effect, that they too should watch their steps.

It is difficult for us to imagine that the God of the Bible—the God who is filled with love and mission and purpose—would allow anything to occur without reason. After all, either God is in control or he is not. All things must have meaning, otherwise we would be living in a random, chaotic universe, and our lives—lives that we have come to believe are precious to God—are subject to forces that are not God. We have trouble with this, and so we should. Rarely can we get away from the conviction that the cause of something has to be related to its meaning.

That people will one day die is a scientific certainty that we can affirm. It is the art that confounds us—in the deaths that matter to us, there has to be some kind of meaning.

There is a theme that the Bible appears to embrace: We humans live in a dangerous, broken world. The desire of God—that all of creation would live in open, unhindered relationship with him—has been countered by humanity’s preference for other things. By our own devices we have opened ourselves to all that the forces of the universe can deliver: Natural disasters, hostile environs, the horrors of human sin, the fear of death. In the end we find only the conviction that this state of affairs is not as it should be. There is clearly something wrong with the world.

When it comes to Jesus, the question of his death has fueled theological debates for centuries. The death of one so important, one so pivotal in our perception of human history, cannot easily be explained away as another random and tragic occurrence, especially since there is resurrection to follow. We long for reasons and our reasons craft our theologies about what it means to find the new life that we believe defines us as the people of God. What we conclude about this particular death matters because it speaks significantly about how we see the character of God, his mission in the world, and his destiny for the human race and all of creation.

Holy Week is a time when we reimagine the story in fresh and new ways and rehearse it within our ancient traditions. My hope is that we would continue to wonder and marvel at this great mystery that we have come to call The Atonement, seeing it not merely as a theological concept but also as a living reality that defies our categories and unravels our attempts at simplification. It is also a story that must continue to be told.

(This is an excerpt from Atonement at Ground Zero: Revisiting the Epicenter of Faith, to be released in late 2012 (Wipf and Stock Publishers)

A Holy Week Reflection

In Christian tradition, Holy Week retells the story that begins with Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and ends in Resurrection Sunday, or Easter.

But it’s really more than just a revisiting of an ancient narrative. It’s an intensely theological journey that speaks deeply about God’s initiating work of love in and through Jesus, for the sake of the world. In a way, this story summarizes God’s mission in the world.

On Palm Sunday, Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, inspiring misplaced hope, disillusionment, and disinterest. The ones crying “Hosanna” very likely anticipated a Messiah of their own design, one who would come in the kind of power that would expel the Romans and re-establish Israel as its own nation. Others would catch on, turning away from this would-be Messiah riding humbly on a donkey rather than galloping in with troops and weapons. The Romans seem to be disinterested, because they take no action against this peasant who seems to present no threat to the empire.

Palm Sunday shows that God’s intentions are played out in ways that are counter to what people anticipate. The work of God often scandalizes human expectation.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of Holy Week are considered days to reflect on a variety of events that lead up to Maundy Thursday, the day that commemorates what we have come to call The Last Supper.

At the table of Jesus on Maundy Thursday, Jesus engages his disciples, first of all, in a very human way—he eats with them. It’s a basic thing that human beings do. In that meal, Jesus shares a common humanity through a common meal. It is also a theologically symbolic meal in two ways. First, it is a meal that takes the symbols of the Jewish Passover and reframes them in what God is about to do in the death and resurrection of Jesus. Second, the meal is celebrated at a table that not only represents all of Israel (12 disciples, 12 tribes of Israel), but also represents the entire broken world that God loves. The disciples represent a humanity that is simultaneously devoted, confused, misdirected, cowardly, and treacherous. Yet they are all invited to Jesus’ table, regardless of their lack of pious qualifications.

On Friday Jesus experiences that which is inevitable for all human beings: Death. We recognize that in this death something more is happening than just the expiration of a life. Something in this death changes the landscape of the entire cosmos. Yet, on the surface, it appears that once again sin and death have had their way with another righteous person. And, indeed, they have.

Saturday is when all goes silent. It is the day of sadness and disillusionment. It is a day of doubts and heartbreaks. It is the place where the dark night of the soul is born. It is its own kind of sacred space, one which will, at one time or another, be inhabited by all. And yet it remains part of the week that we call Holy.

On Sunday the tomb opens and Jesus is raised from the grave. Sin and death did their work on Friday, but it was all undone on Sunday. Sin and death continue to do their work in the world, but it is clear that they do not have the last word. In the Resurrection of Jesus he is reborn, so to speak, by the Spirit and in him the people of God are reborn and relaunched into the world. In this new life is the possibility of new life for all, a life where hope trumps fear.

Holy Week is an atonement week, where the events of these last days sum up all that God is doing in the world. God fully identifies with us in the very human life, suffering and death of Jesus. God’s rescue mission for the world comes to us as God’s preferences and intentions rather than in the framework of military or political power. The table of Jesus shows God’s invitation to be broad and generous, preparing places for even the least of the righteous. And in the Resurrection we have new life, in this age and in the age to come.

May God richly bless you in this Holy Week. May the reality of what God has done in and through Jesus Christ be a story that reconstructs the story of your life, and through your new life may God bring blessing to all the families of the earth.

A Theological Perspective: UUP

I was raised up in the Wesleyan/Arminian Holiness tradition. I have to admit that I ended up appreciating that I wasn't a Calvinist, but I really didn't understand what any of it meant—even my own tradition.

Nevertheless, over the years I've leaned more toward the Wesleyan/Arminian tradition than the Calvinist tradition. I like to say, however, that when I arrived at Fuller seminary as a student, I had no Calvinist bones whatsoever. After I completed my degree, studying under some brilliant and devout Reformed scholars, I discovered that I at least had developed some Calvinist cartilage. I'm comfortable with that.

I've come to understand those apparently disparate views as valiant attempts to put in systematic language the mystery of what God has done in and through the person of Jesus Christ (you can find a helpful and simple comparative chart of the two views here). And while I tend to hold loosely to any systematized framework for theology, I've gone and created one of my own, which I currently like. Here it is, utilizing the acronym UUP (hopefully pronounced "UP" rather than "OOP," although either could be appropriate depending on one's response):

Universal love of the Father. There is plenty of scriptural precedent for God's love for the entire world.

Unlimited atonement. What God has done in and through the conception, birth, life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus has been done for the sake of all of humanity.

Particular response to the work of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit calls, but not all will respond. Some will even reject.

That's where I am these days. I think I'll continue getting in over my head by addressing election, heaven, and hell in my subsequent posts.