The Permanence of Change

I think I've posted something like this before, but indulge an aging guy's wandering mind...

Some people believe that permanence is the core of reality. Human beings need to seek and depend on those things that do not change. A rock will always be a rock. (We even use the word "rock" as a metaphor for that which stands firm and never changes.) In such thinking, life's goal is stasis or equilibrium - maintaining that which is or should be immutable in the midst of flux. This is how traditions come to matter as much as they do. Certainly the quality of life depends on seeing permanence as the foundation and goal of life - to a point.

However, the more I learn and experience, the more I realize that permanence isn't the core of life at all. Change is the core of reality. The rock is only permanent in our limited view. It is being smoothed and turned slowly into sand even as we speak. Atomic science helped us see that solid matter isn't the foundation of the universe. Atomic particles in constant motion in fields of energy make up what we perceive to be solid and unchangeable.

This latter view, true as I believe it to be, scares most people. I find it unsettling as well, and beyond my ability to comprehend or control. However, the reality of constant flux can lead us in one of two directions. It can take us to despair, realizing that nothing is permanent and unchangeable, including us. Or it can lead us to seek that which is beyond all of it, yet present, active, passionate, and real in the midst of constant change. And in this seeking, we can come to realize that we are sought by this One who is constant when nothing else is - God, revealed fully to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth.

I choose the latter. What about you? I'll see you around the next bend in the river. (A kayak is finally close - maybe by the end of January.)

The Gift of Encouragement

I received a nice Christmas gift just a few hours ago. I was coming to the end of a morning run, when I saw three runners coming from the other directions. They were teenagers from the local high school cross country team, in the midst of their morning workout. I kind of dreaded our passing each other, as they would be striding at youthful competition speed, and I would be plodding by at an old man's sluggish pace. However, as they approached me, they each looked at me and smiled. To a kid, each one of them said, "Good job!" I could have run another two miles on that unexpected fuel!

How simple was that? They could have ignored me or just nodded a greeting and run on by. Instead they made a choice to encourage a stranger. I'll have the same kind of choices before me today. So will you. There will be any number of people and circumstances that will irritate us, create barriers for us, slow us down, or fail to reach the perimeter of our attention or interest. It will be easy to discourage or dismiss. It will take a conscious decision to say or do something that will encourage someone.

Early followers of Jesus took seriously the ministry of encouragement. They believed they had received the ultimate encouragement from God in the one born in the Bethlehem stable. That's a Christmas gift we can all give. Goodness knows there are plenty of people who need it. So what will you do with your encouragement opportunity today?

A Domesticated Faith

One of the knocks against organized, mainline churches in North America has been that we're "boring." I'm learning that there may be better terminology to express the same issue. More specifically, too often we are tame or domesticated. Too often we have taken a gospel that was revolutionary and high risk and turned it into something manageable and safe. First century followers of Jesus were ready to die for their Savior and their mission. Too many twenty-first century Christians just want the same Savior to keep their bankbook solvents and their bodies healthy.

Here's the difference, as Erwin McManus shares it in The Barbarian Way: "The civilized build shelters and invite God to stay with them; barbarians move with God wherever He chooses to go. The civilized Christian has a routine; the barbarian disciple has a mission. The civilized leader knows the letter of the law; the barbarian disciple knows the spirit of the law. The religiously civilized love tradition; the barbarian spirit loves challenges..." (pages 78-79.)

Bold and risky verses tame and predictable. There's a reason that some gatherings of Jesus followers flourish and others drift away. I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

Where the Streets Have No Name

I grew up on a street called "Alice Avenue." (When I was really little I thought it was named after my Aunt Alice!) It was a very short north and south lane, entered by a T-intersection with an east and west street, and ending at a dead end at the Missouri Pacific Railroad tracks. I have good memories of Alice Avenue. I also remember that 447 Alice Avenue was more than a street address. Our street said something about us as a family. For one thing, it said we didn't live on certain streets in our town where the homes were larger, where the back yards butted up against a private golf club, and where dads had incomes a lot higher than mine did. On the other hand, Alice Avenue also meant we didn't live on other streets where tiny houses of the very poor crowded together in the shadow of factories, track side warehouses, and alleys. People found out a lot about a person in my hometown just by knowing on what street that person lived.

On what street do you live? From what street did you come? What does your street say in the eyes of the world around you? The band U2 once did a song called, "Where the Streets Have No Name." In part the lyrics are as follows:

I wanna run, I wanna hide,
I wanna tear down the walls,
That hold me inside.
I wanna reach out and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name.

I'm not sure what Bono intended by those words, but it sounds like a human hunger to not be defined and confined by where we come from and where he are right now. For me, I think that, when God rules, the streets have no name. The streets of our lives don't define us. Only God does.

I'll see you around the next bend in the river.

A Domesticated Gospel

My latest book of impact is Erwin McManus' The Barbarian Way. (Thomas Nelson Publishers, Nashville, 2005 - Seems I'm always about a half a decade behind!) McManus and John Eldredge are two faith leaders and writers who really give voice to my own hunger for the vibrancy, courage, and focus I too often find lacking in current, Western organized Christian expressions. Here's a sample of what fuels my jets:

"So what is this good news? The refined and civilized version goes something like this: Jesus died and rose from the dead so you can live a life of endless comfort, security, and indulgence. But really this is a bit too developed. Usually it's more like this: if you simply confess that you're a sinner and believe in Jesus, you'll be saved from the torment of eternal hellfire, then go to heaven when you die. Either case results in our domestication. One holds out for life to begin in eternity, and the other makes a mockery out of life.

The call of Jesus is far more barbaric than either of these. It is a call to live in this world as a citizen of an entirely different kingdom. In its primitive state, the good news could never be separated from the invitation of Jesus to, 'Come, follow Me.'" (page 32)

So what do you think? Is McManus right? Have we so domesticated Jesus and the gospel that it bears no resemblance to who Jesus is, who we should be in Him, and what we are commissioned to do?

I'll see you around the next bend in the river.