Family Feud

I love me some Southern Baptists.

I went to visit my brother in Dallas a few weeks ago, and went to his church one Sunday, which happens to be Southern Baptist. He is the interim worship leader at this church, so one of the pastors introduced me in front of the entire congregation, and told them that I was studying Biblical Studies at Covenant College. Everyone I met was warm and loving when they met me, which reminded me of the universality of the body of Christ. You could go across the world and be welcomed as a family member in various circles. There just so happens to be one thing that screws up the beautiful picture.

Denominations.

Don't get me wrong here, I understand why denominations exist and the purpose they serve. I just lament the fact that they do. If it were not for denominations, perhaps churches would be even more torn and bitter over doctrinal issues than they are now. And yet, because of denominations, millions of believers simply do not speak with each other.

After that church service in Dallas, one of the pastor's wives approached me and kindly made conversation with me.

"Which college are you at again?" she asked.

"Oh, hello. Covenant College. It's a Presbyterian school right outside Chattanooga, Tennessee."

"Presbyterian?"

"Yes ma'am. It's affiliated with the PCA."

"So...are you studying to become a Presbyterian minister one day?"

"Umm, something like that," I said, unsure of how to answer.

"Well, I sure hope not."

"Exuse me?" I asked, genuinely wondering if she was being sarcastic or not.

She wasn't.

"Presbyterians. You sprinkle babies, don't you?

"Well, that's an issue of minor concern for me that I really am not adamant..."

"You know they're not Christians....the babies, I mean."

"Well, we see sprinkling as a sign of the Covenant found in the Old Testament. I can assure you, the PCA truly tries to uphold Scripture to the best of it's ability."

"Baptists do too!"

"I agree, I actually was Baptsist for 15 years of my life."

She then decided to end cordially after theologically drilling me, "Well anyway, it's nice to have you visit us. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Dallas!"

I must say, I was confused to say the least. I kind of laughed it off and went on with my day. But I continue to wonder, how many churches are filled with members who really believe their denomination is the saving grace of the Christian faith--God's chosen means of carrying on orthodoxy. Oh how deceptive is the human heart!

If we could only see the beauty of Christ's worldwide Church, with the sobering realization that we have much to learn from our brothers and sisters--even when if they aren't favored by God enough to be in our denomination.

The Mysterious Spirit of Christ: Why I Believe Rafiki is a Prophet

I have the honor to offer to you an article very dear to my heart; it was one of my first blogs, and still is one of my favorites. Perhaps I'm just running out of material, and am forced to revive old stuff. Either way, I hope you enjoy it, for the second time or the first...

I love the Lion King. I could watch it every day for the rest of my life and not get sick of it. It's one of those classics, the kind of movie that will go down in history. Few would agree with me in saying that it is the best film ever created, and I think that's very sad, because I know that it is. There is no doubt in my mind about it. I would venture to even say it is the greatest work of art in the history of mankind. Period. I love it. I also love God. And I find it ridiculous that I just used the same word to describe a movie featuring talking animals and the sovereign God of the universe. But that is beside the point.

Towards the end of the movie, there is an incredible scene where Rafiki (the crazy monkey with a blue jabooty) shows Simba that his father Mufassa is alive. He brings him to a pond and tells him to look in; Simba is dismayed though because he only sees a reflection of himself. As the monkey stirs the waters with the tip of his finger, he responds, "Looook haaauder. You see? He lives in you." Simba looks down to find not his own reflection, but that of his father, the king.

The fact of the matter is, the Lion King taught me a deep truth about the mysterious Spirit of Christ. The whole Spirit thing is kind of strange when you think about it, you know? Jesus says He is gonna send a spirit (of Himself) back to earth to live inside His believers and guide them. These things have always confused me, but lately I've been especially inrigued by the odd words of Jesus. He says in John 5:41, "I do not accept praise from men, but I know you. I know that you do not have the love of God in your hearts." Oddly enough, this passage actually shed an incredible amount of light on this subject for me. Let me explain.

Jesus is talking to Nicodemus in John 3, explaining what it means to live eternally. He says something quite odd in verse 6: "Flesh gives birth to flesh , but the Spirit gives birth to spirit." I thought about that for a while, and I came to the conclusion that Jesus lives inside of us. Not terribly profound, yet it hit me really hard when I realized it. The Spirit (of Christ; aka, the Holy Spirit) literally gave birth to Christ in us just as our mothers gave birth to us. And the process of becoming holy is Jesus growing inside of us, consuming more and more of our being.

I realize that this sounds odd, but please hear me out. I become increasingly convinced that this is true, and I think the Apostle Paul defends the concept in Galatians 2:20, "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me." The process of us becoming holy is not us getting better; it is Christ in us becoming greater. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace...you know the rest. So if you've ever experienced true spiritual joy, it is literally the joy of Christ (the happiest being in the universe) in you being joyful. If you've ever truly loved someone, it is literally Jesus loving that person through you. I am convinced that we can't do these things on our own.

Let's take this one step further. We are finite. I was born in 1986 and will be done with life sometime within the next 60 years or so. Christ, on the other hand, is infinite, with no beginning or end. This is significant, because our eternal life (a phrase that has become quite trite within Christian circles) is literally Christ living forever in us. Amazing when you really think about it, isn't it? We as humans do not have the capacity to live forever, yet Christ does; so when He is alive in us, we too live forever.

Let me bring these thoughts full circle to the verse I spoke of at the beginning. Jesus says He doesn't accept any praise from men. I thought this was very strange, and even a little rude; but it makes perfect sense when we put all these Biblical truths together. Jesus doesn't accept praise from men, because we are unable to sincerely praise Him. Only those with changed hearts (the Spirit of Christ now living in them) can truly worship him. For it is the Spirit of Christ in us that adores and worships the Father and Christ Himself, for only He (the Spirit) understands how infinitely worthy of praise They are. We can't see this glory on our own. In this way, we may boast in nothing, giving full credit to Jesus Christ. May we say with John the Baptist: "[Jesus] must become greater; I must become less" (John 3:30).

Look harder my friends. You see, He lives in you.

I find it hard to believe that God loves me.

I mean really believe it. To miss a few classes, forget a meeting with someone, skip devotions, put off things I know I have to get done, get angry at my roomates, neglect to call my friends from back home I haven't talked to in months, walk past a ministry sign up without feeling any desire to help...

...and still believe that God passionately loves me. The richness of Jesus' love is most fully realized in my greatest failures, for only then am I truly dependent upon His grace.

It is in these fragmented and scattered glimpses of my life that the gospel really makes sense.

The Power of Bubbles

It's hard for us to imagine a doctine such as the trinity as a comforting one, but perhaps Scripture portrays such truths to us not so we will have more to write about in our systematic theolgy books, but that we may be encouraged and given hope.

Somewhere along the way, we have forgotten that the trinity is a team. It's easy for us to pit the members of the trinity against one another, as if each one is completely univolved with or even opposed to the work of the other members. For example, we tend to think, albeit subconsciously, that God the Father was ticked off in the Old Testament, and the loving Son had to come make things right in the New Testament, and the Holy Spirit was off blowing bubbles in left field until Acts, where He gets to do fun things like appear as a flaiming tongue and kill people for not telling Him the truth (Acts 2; Acts 5).

But the truth is, each member of the trinity is deeply involved in every act of the redemptive story; each has an active and ongoing role. Granted, each gets the stage at a different moment in history: the Father in the OT, the Son in the NT, and the Spirit in Church history. But each of these could not be accomplshed by only one member of the trinity. We must remember that they are distinct, and yet they are one. In the OT, we see the Spirit in the second verse of the Bible, hovering over what would be creation; we see Him leading the Israelites through the desert and in the Ark of the Covenant. We see Jesus as well in the OT: He is the angel of the LORD that is worshipped, and some have argued that He is the High Priest Melchizadek, to whom Abraham offers his tithes (who else would the patriarch of Israel offer his tithes to but God Himself?) (Gen. 14). In the NT, we see all three at the baptism of Jesus (Matt. 3), and of course, we know that all three are at work in the Church today.

One of my professors at school made a bold statement recently: It was the Holy Spirit who rose Jesus from the dead. It sounds crazy at first, but actually fits quite nicely with concepts presented in the gospels and Acts. The Spirit was active in Jesus' miraculous virgin birth, to be sure; he was present and active in Jesus' baptism (in the form of a dove); he Himself led Christ into the desert to be tempted, and gave Him the strength to resist temptation (Matt. 4); and He was no doubt active in Christ's ministry and miraculous signs. You get this sense that Jesus, as the divine God-man, was truly quite dependent upon the Holy Spirit. I say this not to diminish His divinity, but to stress His humanity. Peter proclaims at the Pentecost, "God has raised Jesus to life, and we are witnesses to the fact" (Acts 2:32).

"And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ will also grant life to your mortal bodies thorugh his Spirit, who lives in you" (Romans 8:11).

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of feeling like a completely worthless, ever-failing Christian. I'm tired of feeling defeated by sin and by the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that are thrown my way. It's all sort of coming to a head for me now, and I'm finally realizing that I am incapable of winning this battle.

But the Spirit of God is capable of anything. And this Spirit who hovered over the unformed earth, who delievered and led His people from Egypt, who made the Jericho walls to crumble, who destroyed the LORD's enemies with Gideon's 300 men, who brought dry bones to life and made them into an army, who was actively involved in the virgin birth, who delivered Jesus from temptation, who led Christ to the cross, who raised Him from the dead, who is described throughout Scripture as a powerful, powerful being-this Spirit lives in me.

There is hope in the trinity, for in Christ, we are ingrafted into the story they are telling together.

The Art of Conversing

When I was little, I started my very own club. This is an impressive accomplishment, I want you to know. Starting a club takes time, energy, and dedication- all of which I had. My club was a secret club, which means I had to work extra hard to not let others outside the club know about it.

Have you ever spent time with Jesus, and felt as though you've been the only one talking? This happens to me quite often. I plop down the Word of God, flip to a random passage, and try to find spiritual encouragement and nourishment, as if the Bible is some magical book that must be rubbed like the genie's bottle to get the desired result. I somehow think that the power is in the black words on the page, and if I stare at them long enough, I will understand them.

Spirituality is a relationship.

One of the worst lies we can believe as Christians is that we are alone. Jesus promised to send His Spirit to guide and comfort His believers, and yet we act as though the third person of the trinity simply does not exist. I've had my share of spiritual monologues, where I feel I have been the only one talking, and I'm tired of it. I'm burnt out, and I have nothing left to say.

Spirituality is a conversation.

I rarely listen to God, due to the fact that most of my conversations with Him are filled with my words only. God says in Ecclesiastes that we ought to be silent before Him; standing in awe of Him, our words ought to be few. I think if we were really in love with Jesus, we would be in awe; we would silence our hearts in the wonder of His love.

The truth is, our version of spirituality seems to be more about us than God. If it was about God, we would be silent and listen. But we usually end up more concerned with our own affairs than what God is concerned with. I've learned that spirituality is hard. It takes time and discipline. The Bible was not meant to be read as a 5 minute daily devotional to brighten our day. Spirituality isn't neat and clean cut. It is often ugly.

When we aren't the ones talking, we hear things we might not want to hear.

The club I started when I was a kid was a club I had by myself underneath the covers when I went to bed. I was the only member. I talked to myself. I distinctly remember feeling awfully alone.

We cannot do spirituality alone. It isn't a matter of reading the right verse or saying the right magical spell. Spirituality is about communing with the God of the universe. Let Him speak.

Confessions of a Cynic

(An article I wrote for my school newspaper)

It’s because we love ourselves.

I’ve thought about it a lot lately, and that’s the only reasonable answer I have come to so far concerning cynicism. Whether it be manifested through public complaints, quiet distrust expressed behind closed doors, or the soft and unspoken language of our hearts, cynicism is an outworking of self-interest. Regardless of its expression, we have a serious problem on our hands that must be dealt with sooner or later.

Covenant College is perhaps the most cynical institution I have been a part of in my life, and I fear that I only add to the problem. I feel it as I walk down my hall, as I read the latest edition of The Bagpipe, as I eat in the Great Hall, as I sit in chapel. I feel it deep in my bones because it surrounds me. It is a part of me, slowly hacking away at my joy and my life, a cancer spreading throughout my body.

When we joined this community, we entered into an ongoing conversation that is necessary and proper for an institution such as ours. Whether we realize it or not, this conversation is shaping who we are and how we see the world. In fact, we could use more real life discussion, as Ron Brown recently suggested in chapel. Issues like the War in Iraq, abortion, in vitro fertilization, and the abuse of women in Spain ought to all be addressed, either formally or informally. It’s how we learn: probing, questioning, pondering fresh insights. We have entered the most intense molding period of our lives, and are thus questioning everything we encounter. We are learning how to articulate what it is that we believe. We are learning how to think for ourselves.

And these are good things. Reformed and always reforming. Sola Scriptura. In all things, Christ…

But are we missing the big picture?

What is the purpose of having a conversation in the first place? We have a conversation because we want to see an intended outcome. We are impassioned, being caught up in issues bigger than ourselves, and we work towards a set goal to accomplish what we feel needs to be improved or changed…at least, that’s how it should be.

Something is missing at Covenant though; something important that makes all the difference between ours and a healthy community with healthy dialogue. The problem I think we are encountering is that we are more concerned with being right and proving our point than we are with the issues at hand. More importantly, we are more concerned with ourselves than we are the gospel that we claim. It seems that we are missing the ability to love people in the midst of adamant disagreement, a direct result of impure hearts. The conversation is not the problem—our attitudes and mindsets are the problem. We say we are concerned for God and His Kingdom here on earth, but the way we talk proves otherwise. We care about being right.

The truth is, I’m a narcissist, and that drives my cynicism. I’m upset about the cynicism at Covenant College, but if the problem were resolved, would I be satisfied? Of course not. I’d find something else to be upset about, and then I would write an article about it so people could hear what I have to say, because my opinions matter. Honestly, I love the fact that you’re reading my article right now—it makes me feel important. Do we eagerly desire the bringing about of God’s shalom on this earth and at Covenant College, or do we just love hearing ourselves talk?

We really believe we are the standard.

I think it’s possible to think about God and forget Him at the same time. I’ve been part of one too many discussions concerning worship theology, philosophy, and methodology, during which my heart is usually not at all actually concerned with loving or honoring God. I can’t count the number of times I’ve either said or thought, “I really think that worship was great today, except I didn’t like…” And thus my contribution to the conversation has not been an edifying suggestion or critique, but rather a cynical and destructive remark which has only served to raise others’ awareness to my preferences.

But do we ever simply enjoy Jesus? Or are we too busy critiquing the music or speaker in chapel or church that we forget about Him in the process? Are we too busy analyzing the way a friend said something that we miss the incredible amount of truth they just spoke into our lives? Are we too busy pondering our next response in a conversation that we don’t even hear what the other person said? Are we too busy calling passionate believers self-righteous and fake because we’re intimidated by them? Intimidated by the fact that they understand the gospel in a way we can’t even fathom: they deeply love Jesus.

Sometimes I’m scared of people who get it, because they make me look bad, a threat to my reputation and value. I turn cynical to hide my fear, drawing back and allowing a quiet distrust to grow in my heart.

I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. Our friends ought to speak truth in love, in a non-arrogant manner; our fellow students ought not say and do self-righteous things. Worship should be well thought out, not just thrown together (our student leaders do a phenomenal job preparing music); the speaker ought to be well-spoken, articulating the Word of God. Indeed, all these things must be done in a Scripturally sound way that is acceptable to God. I agree.

But God wants our hearts, and they are far from Him.

I have this recurring image in my mind of Jesus standing on the stage of the chapel, speaking to us students. Except he doesn’t have a three point sermon on the theological implications of the Sermon on the Mount—He’s weeping. And through His tears He keeps repeating,

You’ve missed the big picture.
You honor me with your lips, but your hearts are far from me.
You just don’t get it.

We miss it because we don’t want to see it. We want what we want, and our wants turn us into cynics.

It’s because we love ourselves.

And the only fitting response is repentance. We have spit upon the glory of the Almighty God with our self-interests, yet we continue to respond with complacency. If we only had a vision of a life that surpasses our own, of a conversation that is bigger than ourselves, of a people so changed by the power of the gospel that they bleed humility and love. May we lock ourselves in our rooms begging Jesus for forgiveness and healing until it happens. May we weep over our pride that we may be restored, for there is hope in the cross.

I Died for My--

“I died for beauty”, she said.[1]

I didn’t know how to respond, uncomfortably staring at my feet, hoping she would soon change the subject. We were six feet below though, so I couldn’t escape her questioning glance, as moss slowly covered her lips.

“And you?”

“For my…beliefs.” I was not confident, my voice bearing witness. The statement was empty and I knew it; something seemed superficial. Could there have possibly been more? “Belief in—

“I for truth,” I heard a man reply.

“What is truth?” I asked, inquiring his doctri—

“Did you not die for truth?”

Truth.

It was then I realized the fatal error to which I had fallen prey. I died for belief, not truth. Therein lay the disconnect I had felt deep in my bones before the conversation began. I had not lived for truth, and thus could never have died for it.

“I died… I believed… I believe…

…in myself.”

I wept.


[1] Emily Dickinson, “I Died for Beauty”

Confessions of a Narcissist

No one loves Joel Piedt more than Joel Piedt.

I'm convinced of this statement's truth. I was thinking of Narcissus's story a few days ago, the Greek myth about the beautiful man who fell in love with his own reflection, and ended up dying next to a pond staring at himself. It's a depressing/disturbing story for a number of reasons on a number of levels, but I'd rather not state the obvious.

What saddens me is that the story of Narcissus just so happens to be the story of Joel Piedt, minus the part about the guy being beautiful. I was on a road trip this summer, hiking in places like Zion National Park and the Grand Canyon. There was one time that I was hiking up a beautiful cliff called Angel's Landing, and I found myself lost in wonder.

In myself.

This is no lie. I was so wrapped up in a position I had just received, all I could think of was, "I wonder what people will think of me!" I thought about this for hours as I hiked, oblivious to the glory around me. And then it hit me.

I wonder how much I missed that day. If I wasn't so self-consumed, how much more glory would I have experienced surrounding me?

I do the same thing to God every day.

Every day.

Every day.

I long to be caught up in something bigger than myself. I want to be captured by it. In Revelation, the elders are so caught up in worship, they fall facedown. They get it. They get the big picture. This is an expression similar to what Jesus meant when He said that we should take up our crosses and follow Him, dying to ourselves.

I want to be so caught up in Jesus' glory and beauty, that I forget myself, even if but a moment. The story of God is bigger than life, and I find that hard to believe most of the time. It's bigger than any concert, any sunset, any person, any piece of art, any movie, any book, any philosophy, any scenic view, or anything that raptures us from ourselves.

And I still miss it every day.

I'm growing tired of my reflection, but not tired enough.