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Seeking wisdom from other members of the Body seems to be no easy affair in today’s church culture, regardless of denominational affiliation. Obviously, we can seek wisdom by asking questions of those we respect when in need, but I’d like to think that as Christians we can do better than this kind of consumeristic, reactionary grab for discernment. I want to aquire real wisdom, which I believe must take time and consistent effort. Mentoring relationship are avenues for developing relationships and connections, imparting tradition and knowledge, and supporting one another in trial of all kinds. A few things that come to mind as I ponder my own difficulty in finding these kind of relationships: 

1. I’ve had a lot more success when I approach this issue with humility, making a decision to understand that people like my priest, grandparents, and deacons not only know the Bible better than I do in some regards, but they’ve also generally had a lot more time to apply these principles and truths. As much I might like to think my angst is unique, chances are they might know something about whatever it is I’m going through.

2. We’ve got to carve out time to make this stuff happen. There are a few guys at my church that have been such sources of encouragement to me and have been great sources of wisdom as I’ve taken this difficult route of taking my family to a new denomination. Although we are not in a formal mentoring relationship, I’ve never regretting sacrificing a few chores around the house or my Facebook time to spend time with them in formal and informal settings. Taking the time on my lunch break at work to meet somebody for a bite, etc, can be difficult, but worth it in the long run for developing relationships and by God’s grace obtaining some wisdom in the process.

3. Mentoring relationships don’t usually happen by accident. I would say I have had a small number that have happened organically (my relationship with my own father, and one particularly influential high school teacher) however I think in general we have to pursue these things with a high degree of intentionality. 

4. All of this is easier said than done 🙂 I know I don’t like to ask help, my schedule is pretty much packed out, and I feel a little weird going up somebody I don’t know too well (and as a new Phoenician, I don’t know anybody that well) and saying, “Hey, wanna be my mentor?” 😉

Have you ever been intentionally discipled in Christ? If so, how did you make that happen? If not, what’s gotten in the way, and how can help each other get out of this state of formational impoverishment?

Belief is a funny thing. At least in the biblical sense, it’s more than mere intellectual assent, but rather a trust, confidence, acceptance of something. Sometimes I feel like I have a lot of trouble believing—doubt has been an pretty consistent companion for me on my faith journey over the years, popping up at the worst possible times. Often I can’t believe I’d even ever consider not believing.

I’ve witnessed an interesting phenomenon regarding my belief—sometimes I can believe, but also not-believe, at the same time. Even when I have intellectual doubts, there seems to be some sort of core inside of me that clings to Truth with an unexpected intensity, a surprising confidence. The sad thing is that sometimes, I even doubt that inner stronghold. Why is that even there? I ask myself. It could be that I’ve been a Christian so long that it’s just permanent ingrained on my psyche. Or—and I’m no theologian, but this seems likely to me—it could be the inner witness of the Holy Spirit, pointing to Jesus, reminding me of his faithfulness and trustworthiness.

I wonder if this the kind of doubt and counter-witness that the Psalmist was sensing when he wrote Psalm 13. I mean, he’s asking if God has actually forgotten him! I often relate to the desparate trust of the man had who asked Jesus for a miracle for his son. “Help my unbelief!” Jesus was his last, best, only hope for wholeness.

I paraphrased these passages and put them to some standard folk chords—here is the result. If you don’t care to listen, here are the lyrics:

How long O Lord, O Lord have you
forgotten me down here?

How long O Lord, O Lord will you
hide from me forever?

How long O Lord, how long will I
seek rest for my soul?

How long O Lord, how long will I
be immersed in the sorrows of this world?

Consider me…

Answer me, please.

I believe in your steadfast love
I believe, help my unbelief.

I believe there is joy in your salvation
I believe, help my unbelief.

Help me O Lord to sing to you
For you have been faithful to me

One day I was thinking about the food that I eat and I realized that meat had ceased to be a once-living thing to me. I had totally forced the concept of “animal” out of the idea of “meat” so that it was just another food substance. This disturbed me because I was reading about how the ancient Jews viewed animal food, and how it was strongly emphasized to them through ritual that a very real life was sacrificed for them. The total draining of the blood, the strict requirement on what kind of meat to eat, meant that animal flesh was something valuable, a meaningful symbol, even a symbolic spiritual pointer. This carries over even into Christian life in the New Testament. I realized that when I ate meat, I had no appreciation of a life lost. It meant nothing to me. I was taking a costly gift for granted.

I did not and do not consider eating meat a sin. Clearly, God allows and even sanctions eating meat throughout the Old Testament, beginning with Noah¹. In the New Testament, Jesus ate fish and participated in the Passover meal, so he ate meat. I think when we try to outdo Jesus on the holiness front we typically get ourselves into lots of trouble. No one is weird for eating meat. Pretty sure God is cool with it.

No, eating meat itself is not a sin. The way I was eating meat however, was.

At first, my vegetarianism was a kind a fast to remind myself to not take any life (even that of an animal) for granted. Later, I discovered some pretty disturbing things about how mass-market meat is produced, and quite frankly it just stopped being appealing. I realized that what many of us eat is prone to disease, full of chemicals and “filler,” and is produced by treating people and animals with little respect and decency. After reading up on the meat industry and watching some documentaries (yup, Food, Inc. was one of them) I found that I rarely craved ground beef or any poultry or pork—although sometimes an organic steak still sounds good to me.

So far the benefits of remaining a vegetarian have been:

• Opportunities to discuss animal cruelty, the human rights involved in the meat industry, and the health risks of the current mass-meat production system with many people who are genuinely curious.
• The willingness to try many new foods—a totally new diet means totally new dishes. There are some absolutely AWESOME vegetarian foods out there and my wife has become quite the vegetarian chef herself.
• A connection with the global community and my roots in African culture. In Africa (and most of the rest of the world) meat is considered a delicacy and a special treat. It may be part of your meal, but it is never the bulk of it. From what I can tell, this is both healthier in general and seems more consistent with the general attitude of respect toward meat I am trying to cultivate.
• I generally eat healthier. It’s rare for a day to go by that I don’t get my full servings of fruit and vegetables. I get protein from nuts, beans, cheese, and eggs.

Which leads me to the fact that I am not vegan. I still do dairy and eggs. Also, to be totally honest—and this might come as shock, so prepare yourself—I’m actually not really, truly a vegetarian. I eat fish often (about once every week or two weeks) so technically I’m a pescatarian. Moreover, I’m really not that strict about meat either. I strive for my vegetarianism/pescatarianism to be a general lifestyle and attitude, not some strict form of self denial. So if I come over to your house and you make me a meat dish, I will still eat it out of respect for the time, effort, and care you put into preparing it for me. I ate turkey this last Thanksgiving, and I sure had some ham on Christmas day too.

The point is that it is about being aware of what I eat and drink, and making healthy, God-honoring, life-valuing, socially-conscious choices regarding the fuel I put in my body.

1. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. And as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything. But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood. (Genesis 9:3-4 ESV) ↩

I have what seems to be an unquenchable thirst for peace through knowledge. What I mean by this is that I like  to have things figured out. Who wouldn’t, right? I spend lots of time thinking and studying and seeking after solutions to problems. There’s nothing wrong with this in and of itself, except that like I said, sometimes I’m seeking to find peace through knowledge alone, and ultimately that can never really happen, especially in matters of faith.

When you really figure out Eucharistic theology, what you find is that no theology accurately describes what happens in the sacrament, and you sure can’t articulate it either. You read everything on the internet about predestination, and you find that a fully biblical doctrine election somehow incorporates free-will. You try to find a body of believers to identify with, and you find none of them exemplify their oh-so-elegant confessional statements. You start looking at yourself and your heart drops because the depth of your sin is overwhelming, but somehow the light of grace keeps you from sinking all the way down.  You come to grips with the fact you are a sinner and saint and that somehow life is both sacred and so, so profane that your heart aches. Violence seems like the culmination of the corruption of the universe, but then it is the only way we can think of to end the steady march of evil toward our loved ones.  For every piece of knowledge you gain, something you don’t know is revealed. Paradox is par for the course in authentic Christianity.

Where is the peace? I think it’s in the difficult, simple act of trusting Jesus. In the midst of rushing rivers of tension that threaten to sweep us away each day, there’s a spot of calm in the storm, and it’s the empty tomb of a resurrected Lord that we can rely on to be our prophet, priest, and king.

I’m not saying that we trust with no basis in knowledge. Part of the reason we trust is that we really can know that Jesus is lord. But trust extends beyond knowledge, past the tensions of life and sin and doctrine and feeble attempts to reconcile them all, and into an anchor of covenant relationship.

Maybe all the tension exists so we don’t have anywhere else to look but to our Lord.

Tension is to be loved when it is a like a passing note, to a beautiful, beautiful chord.

“Tension is a Passing Note” by Sixpence None The Richer

Photo Some rights reserved by Radio Saigón

What is religion, really?

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.

(James 1:27, ESV)

What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food,and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.

(James 2:14-18, ESV).

I have been meditating on the popular idea that Christianity is “not a religion, it’s a relationship!”

I think this has become popular because the word “religion” is associated with human, man-made customs and traditions—and to many a “works righteousness” outlook where I am made right with God by what I do.

I am a huge grace guy when it comes to the doctrine of justification, practically Lutheran in that regard, actually. There is no doubt, however, that the real, life-giving faith thrust on us by God’s grace creates some sort of change in behavior, even if it is as “small” as “just” a humble attitude of repentance.

Our salvation is by a faith (given in grace) that, perhaps paradoxically, demands to be practiced. I don’t think the thought stops there, though. In the “traditional” view, “religion” is defined as my work for God. In the truly Christian sense, however, I think that the religion that we practice is not our work, but through the Holy Spirit becomes God’s work through and for us. Think about that.

Our religion is caring for the broken and helpless, becoming instruments of God’s love and grace and light. Our practice is prayer, preaching, Eucharist, Baptism, and fellowship. God graciously works in and through us in all these things, for our benefit and his glory! It’s not about what we have done or will do. It’s what He is doing.

It’s not that true Christianity is “a relationship, not a religion,” but rather a religion soaked in a relationship. True Christianity can’t exist without a relationship with Jesus, to be sure, but that relationship can’t help but be made manifest in our lives.

I’m beginning to see religion not as fundamentally separate from spirituality, but rather, as God’s work in and through me, symbiotically entangled. I don’t want to avoid God’s Christian religion any more. I want breathe it in and out, drink it up, absorb it, become married to it, have it permeate my life. Because God’s religion is nothing less than his Spirit overwhelming every aspect of my life.

If that doesn’t turn the world’s concept of spirituality and faith upside down, I don’t know what would.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” (2 Corinthians 9:8)

In high school I was going through a particularly difficult time, wondering if I could continue to do the right thing. While speaking to my Dad over the phone (I was at boarding school at the time), he encouraged me by sharing this Scripture passage with me. It has continued to be a source of strength when I feel I just can’t take another step. Over the years, I have shared it with many others, and recently it came across my radar again in an email. Lately, I’ve been pondering the whole concept of biblical grace, and what it means for humanity—for Christians and others. What I believe this passage is saying is that God desires and gracefully equips us to sacrificially give our resources and selves for the Body of Christ. When we do this, when we love each other in a radical way—the world takes note. Check out verse 9 in the NLT:

As the Scriptures say, They share freely and give generously to the poor. Their good deeds will be remembered forever.

We love each other, and then our witness starts to mean something. Do you love your Christian family? Do you love your Catholic brothers and sisters, your Baptist neighbors, your Charismatic relatives? Do you treat your local church as a treasured family, or an exclusive club?We are called to share the Good News and make disciples of all nations. The first step is to tell the world who we belong to, and the Scripture is clear.

They will know we are Christians by our love.

As a kid, my family participated in Advent through a liturgy that I assume my father created, drawing from various sources and scripture. Each Sunday night in Advent, we would turn off the fluorescent bulbs in our dining room, light a candle on the Advent Wreath, and pray together through Scripture. As we did this we traced the biblical prophecies of the coming Messiah, culminating in their fulfillment in the birth of Christ. From the first time we did this on, something about the liturgy—and especially the Church Year—stuck with me.

There are a multitude of reasons that all Christians would benefit from engaging with the Christian calendar, but here are the Big Three for me:

1) The Christian Calendar brings us into the drama of God’s redemptive story.

As we recall the longing for Messiah in Advent, the joy of Christmas, the penitential Lent, the victory of Easter, the thankfulness at Pentecost, etc., we re-enact God’s True Story. Each year we join together as a church, players for an audience of One, literally ordering our lives by the Gospel narrative. As we do this we proclaim the Good News to the world that watches and to each other in a way that places Christ at the center of our lives.

2) The Christian Calendar provides a time-tested spiritual formation strategy that works.

Just as an actor or actress can’t help but be affected at least in some way by the character he or she plays, we too are shaped by our actions and thoughts when we pattern our lives after Christ’s. It is simple enough to be understood by children, but flexible enough that there are endless avenues for creativity. And no matter what, by holding to the outline of the liturgical calendar, you’ll hit all the major discipleship points: repentance, faith, belief, redemption, walking in the Holy Spirit, waiting for the Lord, rejoicing in God’s majesty, grieving in sin, everything in the Nicene Creed. At the very least, the Church Year is a proven tool for teaching the Gospel story in a very participatory, immersive way over time. At its best, the Christian Calendar provides a way for us to order our lives around Christ, instead of secular holidays and the American academic year.

3) The Christian Calendar connects all of us to the Church Universal across time and space.

Some form of the liturgical calendar has been in use for at least 1,600 years, and possibly even more. All our Christian ancestors practiced the Church Year, most of today’s Christians across the world will participate, and many Christians in the future will also join the the rhythm of Holy Feasts and Ordinary Time. It reminds us that our faith is one that is about God calling a people out for himself, and that his plans are much, much bigger than any one person—yet each of us is loved, known, and called individually by God to be a part of Christ’s Body on Earth.

If you’re already familiar with the Church Year, there’s a possibility that it’s become old habit. I’d like to encourage you to take a step back, pause, and reflect on the timeless majesty and usefulness of this great Christian tradition. If you’ve never really given the Christian Year a thought past Christmas and Easter, consider observing the major feasts this year, starting in Advent. You don’t have to go to special services or anything (although these rhythms are designed to be observed in community)—just make yourself aware of what’s happening on the liturgical calendar, and pause each week to meditate on the Scripture that the season is based on.

I believe you’ll be blessed.

Further reading:

• Church Year Spirituality
•  Church Year Spirituality: Practical Wisdom
• The Liturgical Year

Although the Internet Monk went to be with the Lord just a few months ago, he continues to be a spiritual mentor to me. Michael Spencer’s book Mere Churchianity (published posthumously) is a gem that aptly confronts the need for evangelical Christianity to stop with the nonsense and get back to what he calls “Jesus-shaped spirituality.” This book is for those tired of church, those wondering where Jesus is in the landscape of contemporary evangelicalism, and those that just want a better understanding of what it means to follow Jesus. I loved this book, and I plan to re-read it many times—I hope I can give some copies to those that would benefit from it. Here are some quotes to whet your appetite:

Behind the Jesus Is Here sign is a health, wealth, and prosperity “gospel” that removes God from the status of sovereign Lord and turns him into a convenient vending machine…I wonder if Jesus mentioned promises of earthly goodies to the repentant criminal hanging on the cross next to him. (p. 23)

The Christian life isn’t a denial of the prodigal son parable, with the prodigal suddenly becoming a good boy and making his father proud. It is lived at the point where the empty-handed, thoroughly humbled son kneels before his father and has nothing to offer. (p. 126)

I’m looking for a spiritual experience that looks like, feels like, sounds like, lives like, loves like, and acts like Jesus of Nazareth. It’s that simple. (p. 69)

That’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Many of you (even those that know me pretty well) wouldn’t characterize me as a minimalist. I don’t have a modern-style home, my desk is sometimes pretty cluttered, and I tend to buy more stuff than I really need. Yet, I am becoming a minimalist. Minimalism as a philosophy has really stuck with me lately, and I am genuinely trying to apply it many areas of my life. A few things that I’ve been keeping in mind:

• Minimalism isn’t necessarily about a chic decor or ridiculous extremes that limit you from living life to fullest. It’s about appreciating what you have and learning to identify what you really need.
• Minimalism is a process. No one can just a flip a switch and become something they’re not. Minimalism is another part of life’s journey that I’m embarking on. I’m not the perfect minimalist, and I’ll never be the perfect minimalist, but I’m getting better at it, and I’m looking forward to where it takes me.
• Minimalism has a spiritual component that is highly compatible with Christianity. In fact, my decision to intentionally pursue a simpler, more minimal life flows directly from my Christianity. I don’t want to be defined by materialism. I want to make time to sit in silence before God. I want to never lose sight of the “mere” basics: That we are saved by grace through faith in the resurrected Jesus, and that we are called to love God and love people. I want to make Proverbs 30:7-9 my prayer.

My current favorite places to learn about minimalism:

• mnmlist
• becoming minimalist

I’ve struggled a lot over the years with the idea of calling…that very specific sense from God as to what you’re supposed to do with your life. I’ve never had a “light from heaven” moment where my grand purpose in life was revealed to me. Rather, I feel like God teaches me slowly and methodically as I strive for a life of daily obedience.

Although I think God has been faithful to communicate his will for me in this way, it is sometimes discouraging when you hear all of the talk in evangelical circles regarding everybody else’s “call”…especially when you’re in vocational ministry. You start wondering if there’s something wrong with you, because you didn’t have a dramatic, ecstatic experience of divine communication.

Because of these struggles, I’ve become fairly recently interested in doctrines of vocation. Who knew Christendom even had such a thing? But as I learn about the historical Christian perspective on calling and vocation, I’m deeply encouraged, and I feel confirmed in my sense of how God is revealing my vocation to me.

One Sunday, my pastor preached on this idea, and his statements really resonated with what I’ve already been thinking. He said that in general, your calling from God probably exists at the intersection of your greatest passion, your gifts and abilities, the world’s need, and God’s glory. What a great way to think about vocational purpose.

How have you discerned God’s calling on your life?