Yesterday I was present at a talk by famous author and pastor Francis Chan. His book Crazy Love changed the trajectory of my Christian life and ministry, so I was truly looking forward to hearing him speak. Here are some brief notes from the talk.
Right off the bat:
If you’ve come to hear from Francis Chan, and not God, you’re here for the wrong reasons. He is what we pursue.
This blog post is pretty much inspired by Carson’s post on the NRSV, since he got me thinking about Bible translations, and why I’ve chosen the ESV. Although we have different preferences for our primary translation, I really appreciate the reasons he chooses the NRSV over the ESV, and in fact he’s the one that convinced me to buy an NRSV. It was my primary Bible for about six months, and I really enjoyed reading from it even though it didn’t “stick” for me. Without even really meaning to, I think I’ve kind of settled on the English Standard Verson for a while, and here’s why:
1) It’s familiar. I’ve been using the ESV since before it was cool. In 2002, it was one of the only freely available modern translations on the Internet—which made it my default in software like e-Sword or Xiphos. Second, the ESV retains traditional phrasing that just sounds right to me like “…the valley of the shadow of death” in Psalm 23, and “deliver us from evil” in Matthew 6, for example. Most of Scripture I’ve memorized at this point (and that’s not nearly enough) is in KJV (just from hearing it a million times) or the ESV (which, conveniently, retains much of the same rhythm and structure of the KJV).
2) Crossway is a not-for-profit publisher with a mission. This means that the license for using the ESV is extremely permissive. Like I noted above, it was one of the first modern translantions to be freely available on the internet, and Crossway still makes the digital version available free in a number of formats for smartphones, etc. I dig the open, missionary spirit, which seems quite contrary to how many other publishers approach their translations. Access to the ESV is ubiquitous and easy.
3) The ESV Study Bible is awesome. Yeah, yeah, I know it has a bit of a Reformed bias and doesn’t really give women’s ordination or Christian Pacifism a fair shake (heck, I’ve complained about those things publically) but it does a great job of representing the classical/traditional Christian view of many issues and argues lucidly for them. Although I disagree on some points in the study articles, the vast majority of the content in the ESV Study Bible is high quality and academically very sound as far as I can tell. The exegetical notes are especially helpful when considering the historical, cultural, and theological context for a passage. Now, a great study bible doesn’t a great translation make, however it’s just one more thing that keeps bringin’ me back.
4) There’s plenty(!) of editions to choose from. You’ve got evangelistic paperbacks, nice compacts, a beautiful online edition, and fantastic premium bindings as well. Pretty much every book Crossway puts out is solid quality—in general a step above comparable Bibles from Tyndale and Zondervan. The ESV is also going to be coming soon in a Cambridge Clarion format, which is pretty much a dream come true for me. Not very many other translations are there yet.
5) It really is understandable and reliable. I know the ESV has its issues. There are some pretty opaque renderings, to be sure…but certainly no more than in any other major translation. And after 10 years on the market, the ESV still has a great reputation overall for both accuracy and readibility. I feel that I can trust it almost as much as the NASB in terms of its fidelity to the original languages, yet I can also be decently confident that it will sound okay (like the NKJV) when I read it aloud at home or in church.
6) The ESV is standard in circles I run with. This one is pretty big for me, actually. My Anglican church preaches and teaches from the ESV. The friends I interact with on a daily basis mostly use the ESV as well. It’s nice to immediately be working with the same translation, whether that be at church or at work, or hanging out online. When I’m talking over a passage, I don’t have to bring up a different version on my phone or computer, although it’s nice to be able to do that pretty easily when I need to!
7) There’s a growing eccumenical spirit surounding the ESV. The translation certainly didn’t start out as an eccumenical effort, and it clearly is still associated strongly with the Neo-Reformed internet rockstars. Yet, the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod has officially adopted the ESV, and I’m seeing many Evangelical Anglicans embracing it as well. The fact is that thanks to the excellent marketing efforts by Crossway, the ESV is pervasive—I think that it can’t help but move beyond Piper, Discoll, and Co.
I realized a long time ago that there’s no perfect translation. They’re mostly all pretty good, and each has strengths and weaknesses. It’s really easy for a guy like me to sink way to much time into finding “the one” translation, and reading up on the nuances of the TNIV vs. the NLT vs. the NET vs. whatever the hot new translation is. The fact is, I now have on my hands a translation that is reliable, sounds decent, and has endured at least a decade. Plus it’s what my church uses and I’m now very familiar with it. Throw in my dream Bible, and it’s starting to make sense why I’m gravitating that direction.
It’s super late for me (10:17 pm on a weeknight!) and I should really be getting to bed, but it’s been over a week since we got back from India, and I want to make sure I write down some of my thoughts from that wonderful, exhausting, whirlwind of a trip.
First of all, everyone thought we were crazy for taking a toddler on a trip that had about 34 hours of transit time. Well, I have something to say to you guys: you were right :). It does take a little bit of insanity to take on a challenge like that, but I had two things going for me: 1) I am a little insane, and 2) my wife is even more insane. Between the two of us, we had enough crazy to cover it just fine. Amber did a fantastic job, and I can honestly say that while it wasn’t miserable like many predicted, it certainly was challenging and tiring. (more…)
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:
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.
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.
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.
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?
When I was in college, I struggled through a pretty long spiritual dry-spell. Then I discovered something that drastically changed the trajectory of my spiritual journey.
This new way of reading the Bible and praying transformed my “prayer life” from one-way communication (me-to-God) into a two-way conversation.
I discovered Christian meditation in the form of lectio divina. I began to take my commitment to knowing God (not just knowing about God) more seriously.
I began to expect God speak to me through the Bible and practice discernment in my thoughts to see what was from me, and what might be from the Holy Spirit. I experienced a vibrant, refreshing, realness in my walk with God I had previously only caught glimpses of.
The ancient practice of Lectio Divina (“Divine Reading”) most likely originated with monks of the Benedictine tradition, although it is now an integral part of the spirituality many different faith communities.
The driving idea behind Lectio Divina is that Bible study is and should be an expression of your relationship with the Triune God. It is a method that emphasizes a certain conversational aspect of meditating on the Scriptures by providing specific times during your Bible study to both hear from God and respond to His word.
There are are four stages to the Lectio Divina process: Reading, Meditation, Response, and Contemplation.
Before you begin, take a moment to pray and ask for the direction of the Holy Spirit as you move through various stages of Lectio Divina. As with any method for Bible study and prayer, it will probably be beneficial to find a place that is quiet and free of distractions.
Reading. In this first stage of prayer, choose a passage of Scripture to read slowly and carefully. Don’t read too much…you want to really be able to focus on just a few aspects of the text that might resonate. On the other hand, it’s important to not just take one verse out of context, either. I generally try to go methodically through a book of the Bible, using either the pre-marked sections or chapter markers as my guide for each session. I’ve also found it to be helpful to write down verses that stand out or thoughts that come to mind while reading. If you keep these notes, they can become a valuable record of your spiritual journey over time.
Meditation. After carefully reading through your scripture passage, take some time to ponder the text. Go back over your notes, and perhaps adding clarifying thoughts and ideas as they come. Think about what this passage meant to the writer, to the original audience, and what it might mean for you. You might re-read the passage in order to glean further meaning and gain greater understanding.
Response. During this portion of the prayer, allow yourself to respond to the text. Think about how the text might change you. Does the text alter how you view the world, yourself, or God? What attitudes in yourself does the passage bring to light? Offer your response to the Father in humble submission to his will.
Contemplation. Simply focus lovingly on God. Words are not necessary in this part of the prayer, because you are resting in His presence. Don’t resist thoughts as they come to your mind…simply deal with them. If they are relevant to your conversation with God, then offer them back to him and pray for guidance. If they are not, dismiss them, and return your full attention to the One who gives you peace, rest, and understanding.
As with all disciplines, Lectio Divina takes practice and time. If you stick with it, though, it can be a life-changing way to pray the Scriptures and practice the presence of God.
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
Today is Good Friday, the day our Lord was crucified for us.
Last night, my local church (Desert Mission Anglican Church in Phoenix, Arizona) had a Maundy Thursday service that included Holy Communion and Tenebrae. We gathered in a basement lit only by a few Christmas lights and candles. In the darkness, we read the Scriptural account of the events leading to the crucifixion. In traditional Tenebrae fashion, one of eight candles was extinguished after each reading, slowly engulfing us all in that deep kind of darkness only found in church basements.
Holy Communion was especially meaningful, of course, and the songs our worship leader chose could’t have fit the occasion better. What a privilege to be able to join in and play guitar for a service like this. The part that really got to me was the Stripping of the Altar.
After all the candles except for the center Christ-candle had been snuffed out, the worship team and clergy gathered around the altar (communion table, for you non-sacramental folks :), and stripped it of all decorative items. The candlesticks were taken away and the table cloth was pulled off in one motion by our pastor. The simple, plain wooden table stood completely bare, with only the single, small flame of the Christ-candle left. It alone kept the blackness from swallowing the room.
By the light of the Christ-candle, a deacon read Psalm 22.
…I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.
For dogs encompass me;
a company of evildoers encircles me;
they have pierced my hands and feet—
I can count all my bones—
they stare and gloat over me;
they divide my garments among them,
and for my clothing they cast lots….
We exited the building in silence, contemplating what we had just participated in, what we had just witnessed. In Holy Communion, we received the true body and blood of of our Savior and the forgiveness of sins, and immediately afterward, we were thrust into the narrative of what happened so that we could come to that table. The God of the Universe became a man, lived among us, healed us, loved us, cared for us. He fed us and gave us words of life. We turned on him, stripped him of his clothes, beat him while was naked, spit in his face, nailed him to a tree, and left him on splinters to die.
We punctured his side and ripped his skin; he now offers us his body and blood freely as a gift. All the world’s life was created through him; we repayed him with torture and a slow death. Yet, he ransoms us from the powers of darkness, forgives us, and injects us with new life.
I do not understand that kind of love.
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:
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.
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.