Last Sunday we kicked off our Lenten Study of the Heidelberg Catechism.  Amid robust conversation in our adult Sunday School class (join us 10am, every week) the little seed of an idea rooted itself in the soil of my wondering.  It started to grow during the sermon and every since it's been rumbling around beneath the surface.  So I bring it here to let it sprout!

It seems to me that adherence to a confession or membership in a confessional denomination is a bit like marriage or, at least, like the decision to get married.  Great disappointment lies in wait for the bride or groom who thinks that he or she is getting married in order to avoid arguments and conflicts.  Who thinks they have thoroughly vetted their future spouse such that now they are thoroughly agreed on finances, sex, handling the in-laws, expectations of roles in parenting and no further discussion or renegotiation will ever be necessary.

It seems to me that the better part of dating is about vetting the arguments and disagreements that do exist and will persist on the other side of marriage vows.  In other words asking yourself, "Is THIS the argument I want to have over and over again until death do us part?  Can I live with this disagreement in all it's multiple and creative manifestations over a lifetime?" And, perhaps most important, "Do I trust the character of this individual that we will be able to disagree respectfully, lovingly and well?"  

So then membership in a confessional denomination or adherence to something like The Heidelberg Catechism works the same way.  Great disappointment lies in wait for the individual who thinks that saying "I'm in" is the end of the conversation.  Who lays out all the options for a side-by-side comparison and concludes, "This one! Now I have absolutely picked the very best doctrine available.  No further discussion or renegotiation will ever be necessary."

It seems to me that studying the catechism -- both in advance of joining a church and as a member of the church -- is about vetting the arguments and disagreements inherent to it.  Make no mistake, every denomination, church, catechism, etc. lends itself to inherent arguments/disagreements. (Perhaps a point in favor of an intentionally confessional church is that it is harder to experience a bait-and-switch once the vows have been made.)  Just as there's no such thing as marrying the perfect person, there is no such thing as joining a perfect church.  But we can determine whether these conversations inherent tensions are the ones that capture our imagination, engage our intellect and resonate with the calling God has placed on our lives.  So, for example:
- I shouldn't join a Mennonite Church if I am unwilling to engage conversation about pacifism and peace-making.
- I shouldn't join an Episcopal Church and then complain about why the sermons are short and they celebrate the Eucharist every week.
- Participating in a historically Reformed congregation (Presbyterian, Reformed, etc.), I will want to be prepared for a little more intellectualism than emotionalism on tap in most worship experiences. And I won't be caught off guard by the many conversations about the nature of God's sovereignty, the importance of covenant (and it's manifestation in infant baptism) and Kingdom
Are these the doctrines with which I am willing to grapple?  And most important, "Do I trust the character of this church and this tradition to discuss, and, at times, disagree, lovingly and well?"

Hold It Together

It's a common enough accusation against people of faith, that we are "so heavenly minded, we are of no earthly good."  Well, anyway, that's one admonition. Christian folks make everything so spiritual that they don't evidence a lick of common sense.

There's another admonition, like it, only in reverse.  That Christians have emptied their faith of the mysterious and supernatural, opting instead for a religion of doing the best we can by one another, hoping it's good enough and then trying again but harder next week.  So earthly minded, you might say, that these Christians are up to no heavenly good.

The Heidelberg Catechism is constructed such that the very first question might disabuse us of both false notions.

Q: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A: My only comfort in life and in death is that I am not my own but belong -- body & soul, in life & in death -- to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ ...

In this way, we know from the start that we are a people called to hold it together.  This life and the next.  The physical and the spiritual.  Our Christian confession constrains us to life eternal AND life abundant, to souls attuned to God AND bodies committed to the outworking of faith.  Discipleship is not either/or.  Discipleship is both/and.  Just hold it together!!

Making No Promises

Today the season of Lent begins! 40 days of reflection, confession, preparation for the celebration of life and resurrection on Easter morning.  I find myself eager for Lent this year (perhaps because it is so late?) as a -- quite literal -- break in ordinary time.  An opportunity to re-calibrate through new disciplines. Speaking of which, I'm making no promises BUT I'd like to blog a bit more.

Thankfully, our Lenten series on The Heidelberg Catechism is plenty of fodder for reflection.  This Sunday is our introduction to the series and a reflection on the very first Q&A combo in our 450 year old commentary on doctrine, faith and grateful living.  In case you don't yet know it, it goes like this:

Q: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A: My only comfort in life and in death is that I am not my own but belong -- body & soul, in life and in death -- to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sin with his precious blood and set me free from the tyranny of the devil.  He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven; in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me whole-heartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.   

While I am unwilling to make promises, I am terribly grateful for the promises reflected even in this first Q&A.  Here's one I'm thinking about especially today:

"In fact, all things must work together for my salvation."  If that sounds familiar to you, it may be because you've read Romans 8:28 that says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

I appreciate the way the writers of the HC take the opportunity to provide clarity and comment on Paul's words in Romans.  Because, take a roll call of my congregation (and we are no different from any other in this regard) I can tell you that the list of conflicts, difficulties, illnesses, sorrows we carry aren't "good," in any simple or obvious definition of the word.  In fact, it would be pastoral malpractice to call many of these things "good."
BUT, say Zach and Casper (our intrepid catechism authors), all these things may yet be part of the salvation story written in us, around us and through us.  All these things must serve the purpose of my salvation. All these things may yet be redeemed.
When "all these things" aren't good, we can still hold God accountable to this purpose -- our salvation.
It doesn't make difficult things disappear.
It doesn't discount, diminish or deflect them.
But it might help us wonder how God might be in them, transforming them to the purpose of our salvation.
Perhaps transforming us in the process.

 

Addendum

Granting that pastors can't get to everything in a passage with just one sermon and that sometimes the forest/big-picture theme is more important than the details of each particular tree/verse. I've been thinking, since Sunday, how I dropped the ball on Matthew 7:6

"Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls before pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces."

Well now I bet you can see why I might have left that prize verse alone.  Even more so because it comes directly after the prohibitions, "Do not worry" and "do not judge".  This text seems to require us to do a little bit of both.  One commentator I read outlined the broader section of the reading (the pericope):
- Do not worry (6:25-34)
- Do not judge (7:1-5)
- Judge a little (7:6)

Despite the fact I didn't "go there" on Sunday, I do think that "judge a little" is an important word of truth. If nothing else, it is exceedingly practical.

On the one hand, we are each running our own races. Judging, in the sense of becoming pre-occupied with someone else's speed or distance can cause us to foot fault out of our own lane, our own race. On the other hand, picking training partners who challenge us -- not running out in front and mocking our failure but also not lagging behind and insisting that we slow down to keep them company -- is important.

It's not judging another persons' immortal soul (cause that would require the sort of divine insight that is certainly beyond my pay grade) but it is surrounding ourselves with people who challenge us because we are training for the same event.  Who challenge us because they may come off the starting block in a way we've never seen before and we observe, learn and try for ourselves.  Who challenge us because we don't know, on any given day, which of us will cross the finish line first. Who challenge us with good-natured ribbing, with encouragement when that is due and also with congratulations when they are due. Training partners need to be equipped to challenge us in this way.  And we need to be ready and able to return the favor.

This speaks to the ways we choose life partners, friends and -- I venture to say -- churches.  We do not line each church up, place bets, fire a starting pistol and commit to whichever one crosses the finish line first.  Instead, we evaluate the race God has given us to run.  Are we sprinters, marathoners, hurdlers, relayers?  And, as we suit up and get out on the track and begin to run our pace are there others running with us?  Not saying there is anything wrong with folks training for other events (do not judge) but who are the people with whom you fall into step?  Not perfectly, not every time, mind you, but enough to know we are headed the same direction at basically the same pace. Pick those people wisely, says Jesus.  A good teammate can cause you to flourish and you can, alternately, rejoice in their successes.  A poor teammate can possess the ferocity of wild dogs or the simplicity of pigs.  Pick those people wisely, says Jesus.  Don't judge.  But judge a little.

Jesus at a Cocktail Party

Earlier this week, I posed a question on Facebook:

“For consideration: would Jesus have been fun at cocktail parties? Yes/no.”

The first response was from my church planting colleague, Bryan Berghoef who wrote: “If Jesus wasn’t fun, I’m out.” Almost everyone chimed in similarly, including our own Barry Thomas who suggested that Jesus has the kind of charisma that might lend itself to a viral YouTube video being posted the day after the party.  And MANY people reminded me that Jesus turned the water into wine.

All of these responses tells me I hang out with the right kind of people (on Facebook, if not in real life.) But, for the past month, with Sermon-on-the-Mount-Jesus on my mind, I’m having doubts.  Parable telling, healing and hanging with the disciples Jesus would be awfully fun, I admit it … although it wasn’t HIS idea to turn the water into wine – it was his mother’s. 

But the thought of taking Sermon-on-the-Mount-Jesus to a cocktail party makes me more than a little nervous.  One of my friends observed, “I’m not sure he was that good at small talk.”  And another imagined him “chatting up the caterer, bring(ing) the homeless guy he just met.” 

Because I can’t ditch the image in my head of Jesus, standing in a small group at the party, leaning in to listen and shouting a bit to be heard over the music.  Then the music suddenly cuts out and Jesus ends up hollering loud enough for everyone to hear “Anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

Wuh-whaaa! Like the old Saturday Night Live character, Debbie Downer.  Sermon-on-the-Mount-Jesus + Cocktail Party = socially awkward moment. Something like, “you know everything you own is going to get eaten up by moths or corroded by rust or stolen by thieves … hm, what a nice mini quiche appetizer!”

I’ve been imagining that, if I brought Jesus to a cocktail party, I’d spend the whole night standing next to him laughing awkwardly and offering asides like, “He’s not really from around here.”  Or lightly grabbing his arm and translating, “oh, I think what Jesus is trying to say is …”

And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time a preacher has felt the need to translate and soften the hard teachings of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, maybe trying polish him up, make him a little less confrontational, a little more socially acceptable.