Top Ten People I Refuse to Share Christ With

When we sing in church that "I want to be like Jesus," I don't know about anyone else, but I know I'm often lying when I sing that. Jesus had a lot of qualities and habits that I really don't want to adopt. Being like Jesus could really screw up a lot of areas of life that I've come to manage OK. Take for example Jesus' habit of associating with "sinners." Jesus was so certain of his mission from the Father, so certain of the power of the Spirit, and so certain of his deity that he brazenly dined with outcasts that more "religious" people of his day avoided. Let's face it, I too have groups that I avoid out of religious conditioning also. Jesus may love these people, but I certainly don't. At least right now. When I do ever develop a love for these people, I'll look very different than I do right now. In the meantime, until my heart radically changes, here's a top 10 list of those who challenge me the most, and reveal the extent to which I still don't want to be like Jesus.

Counting down (drum role please Paul):

#10 Kids - because it's so hard to explain my theological categories to them. So I'd rather not try.

#9 Teens - same as above, with the addition that I can't handle having to earn their respect.

#8 Business men/women - because I've never succeeded big at business. So I'm intimidated to speak, thinking I lack credibility.

#7 Needy people - because I like to hide in a busy lifestyle that can't carve out 10 frik'in minutes to listen to their problems. Plus, it's emotionally draining to care, so I don't (and don't enjoy faking it either).

#6 People with other religious backgrounds - because I hold them responsible for following a lie, and therefore undeserving of the truth I got for free.

#5 Waitresses/waiters - because I know that I've probably already lost credibility with them before now by acting very un-Christian at their restaurant on Sunday after church; I didn't tip them well or was too demanding. They'll know I'm a joke already.

#4 Neighbors - because they see me all the time; they know that I sometimes peel out of the driveway in anger, kick the kid's bike off the porch, waste lawn water or hang the Christmas lights wrong.

#3 Lesbians - because I'm a guy, an evangelical and a conservative Republican who thinks they're an attack on our "American" way of life. So I just can't handle that. Period.

#2 Gay men - same as above, with the addition that I'm insecure enough to think that homosexuality can be caught like a cold, and it wouldn't be long (after developing a discipling relationship) until I started showing signs of sensitivity, a stronger fashion sense and spoke of "brotherhood" without the aid of war analogies.

#1 Mexican immigrants - because I don't value people enough to learn any Spanish. In addition, as a conservative Republican I'm far more concerned about border security than I am about the missio Dei. I can't bring myself to view people who speak a different language, value immigration law differently than I do, listen to different music than I do, dress different than I do, and have different holidays than I do, as people made in God's image. My depravity likes to classify those who are that different from me as less human than me. I don't speak of this group as "people." As a good conservative I use terms like "illegals," or "workers," or "Latinos." I simply can't handle sharing Christ with those who challenge these beloved categories of mine. Instead of seeing a person needing the love of Christ like it do, I see something else.

I'm a hypocrite. I was born a hypocrite. I'd rather not be a hypocrite, but being one still gives me comfort, keeps me warm. Life is more simple within my little box. If I were honest, I'd sing "I want to want to be like Jesus." I'd like my affections reformed so that I want what Jesus wants. If I truly wanted what Jesus wants right now, the above list would be inaccurate. It's still sadly true though. I hope it's not true of you. If it is, maybe we can reform together, and eliminate the above list.

How to Dress when Preaching

For some time now I've been meditating on my quirk of wearing business-casual dress when preaching on Sunday mornings. Why do I do this? Where does this habit come from? What am I trying to say by dressing more formally than almost all of those attending my church Sunday morning?

Lex Orandi...

What am I teaching my people about church, worship, ministry and about Christ by what I wear Sunday morning?

Although I may have grown up in a church where preachers wore suits (suits being the only accepted ministerial attire - both clergy collars and jeans were considered equally indicative of liberalism), I've long sense grown willing to evaluate the practices I grew up with. I've examined the doctrine of my youth and found it to be faithful to orthodox Christianity. On the other hand, I've examined many practices of my youth and found them needing development.

Among the practices needing evaluation and contemporary development are how formally ministry is approached. Some practices deserve formal reverence: preaching and worship demand good theological reflection, architecture and maintenance deserves excellence, etc. On the other hand, some practices need to lighten up so as to be more accessible to people. Consider how we've gotten away from the large battleship style pulpits, stained glass and ornate furnishings. Practicality and comfort are finding an appropriate place in missional churches seeking to remove unwarranted barriers to people's experience of the Church.

We come now to how the preacher dresses...

The philosophy behind the suits was one of reverence for the function and solemn duty of preaching, but also extended to the other duties of the pastor as well. "If the president was coming over to your house," went the argument, "wouldn't you dress your best." No baptist pastor of my church growing up would have ever dared to admit that this argument is inherited from the medieval Roman Catholic assumption that Jesus Christ is indeed showing up in your church this morning, in bodily form, as the elements of the Eucharist are sanctified through the prayer of consecration. If you though that Jesus was coming to your church each Sunday, you would design cathedrals to house such an encounter and don robes to consecrate yourself. The baptist pastor who uses such an argument would do well to remember where that reasoning took the medieval Church.

Nevertheless, that is my heritage: the fundamentalist mindset that thinks reverence needs to be expressed in dressing up for Sunday morning; at least dressing up more than I usually do. From the very beginning of coming to Woodcreek Bible Church, I was encouraged to relax and "let my hair down" (clearly a metaphor since my hair is always too short to let down). The entire congregation dresses very comfortably, choosing to prioritize regular attire over artificial formality. What's been my problem?

Part of it is perpetuated at my school (Dallas Theological Seminary). It maintains a dress code for students that (though I still honor it) represents somewhat of a disconnect with church trends calling for less formality. DTS requires business-casual attire when on campus attending classes. Therefore, I've continued that conditioning into my church, wearing slacks and colored shirts on Sunday mornings.

This is a sort of hypocrisy. I'm really saying with this practice that I'm one way on Sunday morning, but another the rest of the time. Should my respect for the solemn church service really be taken that far? Would it really kill me to dress on Sunday morning how I do the rest of the week? When does respect veer into duplicity? Instead of slacks, could I still achieve the desired reverence if my jeans simply had no holes?

Lex Orandi...

Far from being a concession to culture, what if my wearing of jeans and non-offensive t-shirts actually taught my people more about the incarnational nature of ministry than I teach them right now? Could dressing down instead of "dressing up" actually help my church more firmly grasp the missio Dei and become the missional church we should be? Could dressing down accomplish more of what I want to model for people in my congregation that I have to this point? Could dressing down teach my church more about the mission of the Church than dressing up has done?

Oh my word! I find this very scary, and challenging to some of my long held comfort zones.

Worship with The Table

Lex Orandi, lex credendi...

That concept is now burned into my brain. There's no getting away from it. Everywhere I turn in church or ministry life I'm confronted with the truth of it. The order/manner/rule of worship determines the order/manner/rule of belief. I've suspected this before now, but did not know that it had been articulated so faithfully throughout the history of the church. I see how we worship in church and I am sobered by the pastoral responsibility to comes to terms with this; to purposefully plan worship that will most likely develop the desired belief in our people.

Much of modern worship, by contrast is not heavily reflective on this principle. Therefore, often worship is arranged in such a manner that acts contrary to the desired results of mature believers growing in community, worshiping in unity. Because modern worship is so often deficient in this, elements of ancient worship must be investigated to offer the necessary depth to contemporary services. This is not to say that "chant" somehow needs to make a comeback. Liturgy of the ancient church, however, can prove quite informative for the conscientious worship leader seeking to help a contemporary congregation "shake hands" with the saints of old.

One of the ways the ancient Church can help the contemporary Church find her way back to significant worship is by means of the Table; specifically The Lord's Table (also called The Lord's Supper, Communion or the Eucharist). The ministry of the Table was a key component of the ancient Church which followed the ministry of the Word ("preaching"). Anyone could be present to hear the Word, but only believers received in the Christian community could remain for the ministry of the Table. The Table was only for those believers who had been fully trained as "catechumens" and baptized, and were not under church disciple for which they needed to refrain from the Table for a time. After the ministry of the Word, all but those who should partake of the Table were dismissed. The remaining worshipers recited the Nicene Creed, then took of the Lord's Supper together.

How unifying! How instructive! How meaningful!

The ministry of the Table was that engaging aspect of worship that required more active participation than simply listening to a sermon. It looked back in time ("Do this in remembrance of Me"). It looked within the community ("you (plural) eat"; "you (plural) drink"; and "you (plural) proclaim"). The Table also looks forward ("you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes"). The Table comes pre-packaged with so many aspects of Christian worship (a historic confession, a present means of unity, a future hope) that modern evangelical churches have avoided its importance to their peril. I'm so thankful to have been called to pastor a church that already comes to The Table each month. The church I grew up in only held it quarterly, and even then during the Sunday evening service.

Our church comes to the Lord's Table the first Sunday of the month during our Sunday morning service. I'm so grateful that this is their practice already. Woodcreek Bible Church is already poised to enjoy the Table as part of her worship in a way more significant than the tradition I grew up in. Praise to the Lord for having arranged these circumstances in advance. This coming Sunday is our next time to approach the Table and share the common union (communion) of worshiping in this way. It's a worship form enjoying 2,000 years of expressing the Christian heart, and we have a chance to be a new generation having its meaning mature us too.

Lex Orandi, lex credendi.

Liturgy Mania

In the class I'm taking right now, a great deal of discussion (spawned by thought-proboking lectures) is taking place regarding the place for liturgy in church worship. After all, prior the rise and proliferation of church music in the 1800's, churches primarily worshiped according to a pattern. The reason for this pattern of worship (or liturgy - that remained surprisingly consistent for 16oo years of church history) was because that churchmen knew the priniciple of lex orandi, lex credendi ("the rule of worship determines the order of belief"). This principle shows that it is the way in which people worship, not merely the preaching they hear, that determines how they believe. Therefore, if church leaders wanted the belief of their people to remain consistent, the worship had to remain consistent. Hence a consistent liturgy.

On the other hand, if worship forms are all over the map, so will be the belief among Christians. A correlation can drawn between the American abandonment of liturgy and the ensuing splintering in the church of North American since the countries founding. Liturgical elements also contribute to a deep faith that appreciates the most profound truths in Christian orthodoxy. The case for liturgy has been so strongly made in class that the free-church traditions appear somewhat shallow.

Nevertheless, I pastor a free-church with a Baptist affiliation. Most of my people have baptist heritages. This is not an environment conducive to liturgical forms. Perhaps some elements of the ancient liturgy can be enjoyed in a manner that will enhance the worship experience of my church. We can try some baby steps. A little of this..a little of that. Before you know it, we may also enjoy worship that transcends current market trends.

Denominations

Christians are wonderful. Churches are wonderful. It's amazing to watch the Spirit of God work in and through his people to work out the miracles of Christ's kingdom. However, it has been my experience that though the Spirit works through human nature and even redeems human nature, he seldomly suspends human nature. Therefore, Christians who organize in churches can, at times, earn the negative baggage embedded in the phrase "organized religion." When churches organize into networks, the same is still true. Sure the mission of God as advanced through the church can find great expression this way, and fund worthy projects such as international missions, church planting and ministerial training. However, the darker side of such organizing also finds greater expression. Aided by bureaucratic buffers, human nature can become more greatly empowered. Consider the effect of Washington's "beltway" system on otherwise idealistic young freshmen congressmen. Christians can fall subject to similar "wraithing" dynamics.

I'm reminded of the memorable line from the Godfather trilogy, "It's not personal. It's business." Such is the refrain that numbs the conscience of otherwise decent folks. In the Godfather trilogy we begin with Vito Corleone played by Marlon Brando who is the patriarch of this family whose ruthlessness is fueled by the notion that they must survive against the world. Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) wants nothing to do with the family business. He intends to stay straight and legit. He even assures his girlfriend that he will never be like his father. However, by the end of the first film he has not only entered into the "family business," but taken over for the sake of his father and his family. By the time Michael is taking over a Las Vegas hotel and casino in film 2, he's already comfortably fluent with inherited phrases like, "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse."

Michaels decent into the darkness of taking the mantle of "Godfather," though mythological, is instructive for the Church. Organizations, all of them, religious or otherwise, hold the potential to created systems that pit policy against people, shield decision from consequence and substitute freedom for the "family business." Interpreters of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings believe such bureaucratic numbing was what Tolkien had in mind when he created the Ring Wraiths in his novel. Bureaucratic networks and cubicle mentalities can greatly contribute to the "wraithing process." I have experienced, first hand, how church denominations can fall prey to this. Except, since it involves matters of faith, to say "It's not personal. It's business." would be inaccurate. It's business AND it becomes personal in a hurry.

Not that Christian denominations are as ruthless and evil as the Corleone family, but those that enter into them had better be mindful of the line delivered by Robert De Niro when playing a younger Vito Corleone in part 2. "You do me this favor," he assures a new contact, "and I won't forget it. You ask round here. People will tell you that I know how to return a favor." Other times in the trilogy find similar exchanges. "I've done you this favor. Now maybe, someday, you can return a favor for me." Better to live with honor, treat everyone with respect, but to avoid alliances from which there is no pulling out. That category is restricted to the Lord Jesus Christ.