Feeds:
Posts
Comments

We don’t remember her name, but we remember her.

When she arrives on the scene, Jesus is at a men’s dinner. If she thinks about the fact that she probably won’t be a welcomed participant at the event, the story doesn’t tell us. If Jesus takes notice of her lack of fit for the occasion, the story doesn’t tell us.

Then she breaks out an extravagant gift, an expensive bottle of perfume, and unloads it on Jesus’ head. Some men in the room snarl at her, condemning her for wasting the luxurious item instead of using it to help the poor. But Jesus doesn’t condemn her; he commends her.

And Jesus interprets her act of devotion as a participation in the death and burial to which he’s headed. The story gives no indication that the woman knew the importance of her action, but her little story becomes part of the bigger story of Jesus.

He says that people will remember her act, and the Gospel of Mark (14:3-9) ensures our memory of her.

Do you feel like you don’t have a name? Do you feel like you won’t be accepted in the room? Do you feel like you don’t know what you’re doing? God can still use your story.

Jesus Is Lord

“Jesus is Lord!” The phrase maintains a prominent place in Jesus-followers’ identity.

This morning my ministry teammate, Dana Baldwin, ended his message with a rousing exploration of the statement, applying it to our lives and letting it challenge our hearts.

In Mark 11:27-33 we find questions of Jesus’ authority. The next part of the story (Mark 12:1-12) creatively presents Jesus as the Son of God.

Followers of Jesus today must ask more than “Do we believe that Jesus is the Son of God, that Jesus has divine authority, that he is Lord?” We must ask ourselves, “Do our lives show that belief?” Do our co-workers, neighbors, family members, and neighbors see that faith lived out in our interpersonal interactions?

Good questions, Dana! Thanks for the challenge.

This is a modified version of a message I presented today at the chapel of Harding School of Theology in Memphis, Tennessee.

How we worship is important. God cares about it. We care about it. When we gather to worship God, how we pray and sing and preach and give and take communion matter.

That’s why Amos 5:21-23 seems strange to me. There we find these words from the Lord:

I hate, I despise your feasts,

and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,

I will not accept them;

and the peace offerings of your fattened animals,

I will not look upon them.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;

to the melody of your harps I will not listen. (ESV)

Why would God hate a worship assembly? It was God who commanded those acts of worship, so what’s the problem? Aren’t the feasts and assemblies done well? Aren’t the offerings good enough? Aren’t the people singing the right songs? Why the anger? Why isn’t the Lord happy that the people are doing their “acts of worship?”

We find the answer in the next verse:

But let justice roll down like waters,

and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Righteousness and justice are common themes in the Old Testament prophets. Righteousness happens when people fulfill relational responsibilities that others expect of them. Justice is the maintenance or a proper order in social relationships; it involves protecting people in need. Justice can be different things in different contexts, but it always has something to do with social relationships. Justice is the opposite of injustice; and injustice happens when people mistreat other people, often influenced by prosperity and power.

We find this kind of abuse in Amos. The rich oppress the poor, cheat the poor, get drunk at the expense of the poor, sexually abuse the poor, sell the poor. They rest secure in their mansions and vacation houses and gourmet meals and exotic furniture and lavish entertainment. When they’re so enamored by these luxuries, the rich don’t have to notice the poor. The powerful can ignore the powerless.

And they come to worship and do the right actions and say the right words and give the right amounts of money, and they brag about their offerings. They pretend that nothing is wrong. They act like they don’t know that people are dying under their feet. Maybe they really don’t know because they’re too caught up in themselves. Even when they come to worship God, they’re eyes are closed to the reality around them.

Sound familiar?

On my last Sunday in South Carolina, church leaders laid hands on me and prayed over me. One of them announced to the congregation that my family was moving to Memphis, “the third most religious city in the nation.” I leaned over and whispered to him, “It’s the third poorest too.” Our numbers might have been a little off, but they were close. The Huffington Post reported about a year ago that Memphis was the fourth most religious city in the country. And the latest U.S. census discovered that Memphis is the poorest metropolitan area in the nation, with one in five people living in poverty. That’s one in five in the metro area. According to the 2012 Poverty Fact Sheet published by the University of Memphis, about one in four people live in poverty in the city itself.

Have you seen how many churches are around here?

Have you seen how many homeless are around here?

Have you seen the shacks that some families call houses?

Have you seen the beggars on the corners?

Have you seen the teenage mothers?

Have you seen the absent fathers?

Have you seen the children destined to continue cycles of violence and neglect?

If we ignore the social problems around us, God doesn’t want our chapel worship, doesn’t want our songs, doesn’t want our prayers, doesn’t want this sermon.

So let’s take our eyes off the books once in a while and leave the campus and see the city, see the poverty, see the pain. Let’s work for justice, wholeness, healing, rightness… one little step at a time, with whatever God has given us.

I’m not asking us to change the city all by ourselves, but we can play small roles in the bigger work that God is doing. And there are several ways to get involved. The webpages of local organizations like Agape and HopeWorks provide opportunities to serve. Local congregations, like the one on Park Avenue that I represent, can give you ways to serve the community.

But before we act, we have to open our eyes. The first step is simply to see, to see the injustice around us.

Let justice roll down like waters,

righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Righteousness is a stream. Wherever it is, there’s water – flowing water, nourishing water, life.

Justice is an ocean. And if you look at the city around you and the ocean of justice seems rather dead, jump in anyway. Because God is making some waves, and even bigger waves are coming.

We see that hope in Amos – at the end, chapter 9. Restoration is coming. Reconciliation is coming. Better days are coming – for ancient Israel, for the world, for Memphis. And we get to experience the journey, at least part of it.

So let’s ride the waves of justice!

Let’s open our eyes to see the brokenness.

And let’s praise God for the hope of healing.

Sources:

Barooah, Jahnabi. “Most and Least Religious Cities in America.” The Huffington Post. May 18, 2012.

Charlier, Tom. “Census Calls Memphis Poorest in Nation.” The Commercial Appeal, September 23, 2011.

Delavega, Elena. 2012 Poverty Fact Sheet. Department of Sociology. School of Urban Affairs and Public Policy. University of Memphis.

du Preez, Jannie. “’Let Justice Roll On Like…’: Some Explanatory Notes on Amos 5:24.” Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 109 (March 2001): 95-98.

Hartman, Anna Marie. “Census Data: Memphis Ranks as Poorest City in United States.” AMCTV. September 23, 2011 (Updated September 24, 2011).

Mays, James L. “Justice: Perspectives from the Prophetic Tradition.” Interpretation 37 (1983): 5-17.

New Friends

It was my first month serving with Park Avenue Church of Christ in Memphis. As a new staff member and a new member of the neighborhood ministry committee, I sat at a table with several good people whose faces were still new to me.

One new friend suggested that we have a Friends Day in the coming year. The congregation had done a similar event annually but had stopped about a decade ago. After some discussion, the proposer solicited my opinion. I replied with something like this: “I think it’s a great idea. Since I’m new, I prefer not to be the organizer or the public voice for the event.” The committee penciled the Friends Day into the church calendar for April 21.

You guessed it. For several weeks leading up to Friends Day, I was praying, brainstorming, planning, organizing, and in other ways juggling previously unexplored chaos. What should Friends Day be? What should it do? What tasks need to be done? Who should do them? These and other questions claimed much of my attention and had numerous possible answers.

Friends Day for us became a day to focus on our calling as Jesus-followers to love the world. On Friends Day, the emphasis of that calling narrowed to our immediate surroundings, giving us opportunities to extend love to our friends, family members, co-workers, and neighbors. We welcomed all guests and especially encouraged Park people to invite friends not already plugged into any faith communities.

Friends came. They came to the Bible classes. They came to the reception. They came to the worship gathering. They came to the lunch. We glorified God, and we reminded each other of the love God shows us and calls us to live out in our relationships across every line our society assumes.

The planning process intimidated me, but friends joined me as teammates, and our collaboration brought diverse people together in the name of Christ. Every aspect of the special day, from the sermon to the pasta, involved God-and-neighbor-loving teamwork (Mark 12:28-34).

Park, I’m blessed to serve with you!

Hurting with God

Hurting with GodGlenn Pemberton was one of my professors at at Abilene Christian University and has been a preacher for decades. He recently wrote a book called Hurting with God: Learning to Lament with the Psalms. It is informed and relevant, and it arises from the author’s personal experiences with pain and loss.

Dr. Pemberton points out the church’s lack of lament, and the reasons vary: “the wishful optimism of our culture, discomfort with ambiguity, impatient need for quick solutions, and… well-intended but misguided theology.” Some researchers have studied the lament psalms; others have written on the use of lament psalms in preaching, prayer, and public life. In the midst of this literary expansion, however, “the practical translation of this work has yet to take much hold in our churches.” Pemberton’s goals, therefore, are “to make a complete and persuasive case for the restoration of the language of lament in the life of the church and in the lives of believers” and “to teach the language of lament by careful examination of the lament psalms.” He hopes that “this volume brings further attention to the loss of lament in our churches, exposes what this loss is costing us, and stirs our minds to imagine what might happen if we spoke and prayed the full spectrum of the biblical faith languages,” whether used “for personal reading,” “in church Bible classes and small groups,” or as an academic textbook.

The first chapter establishes that humans share a story of “unpredictable, unstable, and life-threatening seas and storms… chaotic forces that stand against human life and well-being.” The author anchors this claim in Genesis, the Psalms, and Job, which provides “good news… that the sea/chaos does not have free reign in this world” and “bad news… that the sea still exists and works chaos in our world.” Such observation leads to the following questions: “How do we live with and relate to God when the waters pound and choke us? What do we say to the God who has the power to restrain the storm but chooses instead to let it pour?” Instead of seeking an explanation for the storm, the author proceeds in an attempt to find a way “to swim” when “this storm is flooding my life.”

Chapter Two teaches about biblical lament language, highlighting the diverse forms’ “commonality: deep faith in God in the midst of pain.” The Book of Psalms contains more lament psalms than any other kind, but the church has largely lost this language of lament. The author documents this loss through the research of his student, T. Austin Holt IV, who analyzes three contemporary hymnals that heavily voice thanksgiving and praise to the neglect of lament.

The third chapter establishes lament as a practice of Jesus and the early church. Chapter Four explores the details and dynamics of lament language. The next seven chapters investigate the problems that give rise to such language: sin, discouragement, health, opponents, and God. The twelfth chapter shows the relationship between lament and thanksgiving, and Chapter Thirteen suggests practical ways to restore lament language in the life of the church. There Pemberton wisely prescribes incremental changes instead of pendulum swings, and he encourages us to practice lament in a “healthy balance of faith languages modeled for us by the Psalms.”

The primary strength of Pemberton’s work arises from his background in both academics and ministry, combined with his personal experience of loss and pain. His scholarly competence provides intellectual substance that more devotional works avoid. His pastoral heart leads to suggestions for ministerial improvement that more academic texts miss. His experience of lament gives his writing a tone of authenticity that compels readers to finish the book and to find points of connection with their own lives. The textual analysis and ministerial suggestions cooperate to “help us regain the wholeness of expression to our God and include the hurting more fully in our worship” (Lowe), and the relevance to everyday life gives readers a reason to recommend the book to a broad and diverse readership. (I gave a copy to my mother when she visited me last week.)

This strength can be a weakness, too. Scholars may prefer more academic texts; Pemberton minimizes his references to scholarly literature. Church leaders may prefer less academic books; the author connects his study to ministry but largely provides textual and theological insights. The blending of approaches, however, exemplifies ministry-related scholarship that empowers theologically informed worship.

Pemberton’s approach from a “low church” experience can be a weakness for readers in more liturgical traditions. Some large portions of Christianity still maintain a substantial place for lament psalms in worship (Wagner-Wassen). While those churches might benefit more from books with other approaches, this one speaks meaningfully to the author’s own and similar heritages; it “provides refreshing corrective for churches inundated with a thin, borrowed and Evangelical liturgy” (Fleer).

Especially helpful is the author’s application of his study to issues of justice, most notably in Chapter Nine. Churches in cultural contexts of affluence and power, even when they fail to recognize their privileges, need this call to speak for and with the oppressed and hurting. We in worship leadership must ask what the lament psalms say to us, to people experiencing lives drastically different from our own, and to our responsibilities as God’s people in and for the world.

I highly recommend Dr. Pemberton’s book to anyone seeking to swim life’s stormy seas, needing permission and place to voice raw emotions to God, or simply wishing to learn more about the Bible, specifically its lament psalms. In the words of Mike Cope on the back cover, “For its biblical insight, this book will sit proudly on my shelf next to Brueggemann’s works on the Psalms; for its pastoral care, I’ll be handing it out to many friends… and church leaders.” The work’s integration of scholarship, ministry, and personal struggle makes it well worth the sticker price and reading time.

______________________________________________________

This review is modified from one I wrote for a course at Harding School of Theology.

Real Love

Caleb in PACC nursery by Wendi Sisson on FBReal love is more than flowers, candies, and cards; more than smiles, hugs, and kisses. It’s more than fleeting feelings, more than blingy gifts, more than self-centered sensuality.

Real love is sacrificial. It’s other-centered.

Jesus came announcing the kingdom of God, a kingdom of good breaking down a kingdom of bad (Mark 3:20-35). That kingdom is a way of life that involves changes of thought and behavior (Mark 1:14-15), a way of life shaped by love for God and people (Mark 12:28-34). Jesus demonstrated that love, so much so that he died for the world he loved.

I’ve been talking a lot about this other-centeredness recently. It’s at the core of the message of the cross, and it even shows up in the textbook I use for the University of Memphis. Yesterday, however, I almost forgot the call to put others before self.

Tamara asked me to start changing Caleb’s diaper and told me she would take over soon (because I was sick, not because I can’t complete a diaper change). As I removed his clothes, I caught a whiff that tempted me to stall. I held my son in my arms, and he laid his head on my chest, and I hoped he would stay content long enough for his mom to relieve me before the opening of the diaper.

Then I remembered my lecturing and preaching. The virtue of other-centeredness filled my mind. Guilt pinched me. I reclined Caleb onto the changing pad, unsnapped the diaper cover, and stayed through the task’s completion.

The story of Jesus calls me to real love, sacrificial love, other-centered love. That’s easy to forget. Sometimes I feel like avoiding it, not thinking of it. Sometimes, however, it grabs me and refuses to let me go and surprises my life with fullness.

[Photo by Wendi Sisson]

Real Friends

Alan TaylorJesus is in a crowded house when a noise comes from the roof, a hole appears, and a stretcher lowers. Friends have brought a person suffering from some sort of paralyzing disease. Jesus looks at the friends’ faith and forgives the man (Mark 2:1-12).

Jesus forgives the man neither because of anything the man does nor because of what he believes. The forgiveness is not a response to the man’s faith; it’s a response to his friends’ faith. The man has faithful friends, friends who believe that something powerful and life-changing is happening in Jesus, friends who have so much faith that they bring their friend to Jesus. They bring their friend whom everyone else wants to avoid. They bring their friends who’s an outcast. They bring their friend who cannot help himself. And they have faith that Jesus can help him. That’s what real friends do.

That’s pretty much part of what I said to my congregation this Sunday morning, and today I found Alan Taylor’s blog post that speaks more fully to relationships among Jesus, his followers, and “those on the fringes.”

When we interact with people while maintaining a sanitized circle we may be doing good and meeting needs, but we are not imitating Jesus, and we still have much to learn about the fullest dimensions of living a cruciform life in the model of Jesus. I’m convinced that the call of Jesus demands that we not only love and meet the needs of those on the fringes, but that we allow ourselves to be counted as one and the same. Isn’t that the heart of the incarnation?

For more on this, read Alan’s entire post by clicking here.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 133 other followers

%d bloggers like this: