"Peace on Earth, Goodwill Toward Men

I've been thinking about Christmas and what it means to say things like "peace on earth, goodwill toward men (or humans)". And I've been thinking about the different ways this gets interpreted in our culture.

Probably the most prevalent understanding is that Christmas is a time where we can forget our differences or set them aside, for some unknown reason cited as "the season" and where we can be nicer to each other. This sounds marvellous, but has no real basis or grounding other than the ineffable "feeling" of Christmas warmth. It's a peace and goodwill based solely on sentimentality. Some may argue that something deeper drives it, but I would think that if something deeper undergirded this sentiment, it would be an all-year sentiment, not necessarily made stronger even at Christmas. Christmas, we would argue, is a reminder, not the "peace zone."

I've heard, we've all heard, that Christmas is a time for giving. This of course also has no basis in secularized society other than the sentimentality of a Santa Claus figure who gives gifts (which is a secularized version of something and someone much more honourable).

I've heard that Christmas is a time for family. But where is the rationale for this other than that it's a holiday?

My point here is that what's happened to Christmas is what happens to a lot of Jesus' teachings: the principle is appreciated for what it is, softened so as not to offend, and then mass-marketed as something which requires nothing of us and gives everything to us. The context, the actual events, the locality and localization, the specific historical sitz im leben, is entirely ignored, pushed aside, so that sanitized, less earthy, less human and less godly versions can be churned out. We sing (largely inaccurate) saccharine carols, we trim trees and we give gifts, we warm cider and eat Christmas cake (i love fruitcake...i know, one of the lonely few), and we feel warm and fuzzy inside and call this peace on earth, goodwill toward men. We think that saying "Merry Christmas" to one another and having nativity plays in school are the greatest battles Christians can wage, and we feel that these battles, once won, will ensure peace on earth, and goodwill toward men.

We are, of course, sadly wrong.

Peace on earth, Goodwill toward men. This was the phrase sung in the song "I heard the bells on Christmas Day." In the scripture, we read something similar: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to men, on whom his favour rests." (Lk 2:14)

The difference, of course, is in the first phrase. Peace on earth is impossible without recognizing first that Glory belongs to God.

Shalom, peace, is more than lack of conflict, armed or otherwise. It is the reconciliation of all things, the "making right" of things. This shalom, this peace on earth to men, takes so much more in scope than a simple (ha) elimination of war. This peace is the peace of Christ, the prince of peace, whose reign is that about which we read. Peace on earth does not speak of kind feelings only, but about obedience to the highest power, about glory to God, and about submission to the reign that brings peace.

This peace finds purchase in reality here and now as the people of God embrace continually the reign of Christ and embody the peace of Christ through creatively defusing conflict and by actively making peace on earth with one another and with the "other."

If we're going to experience peace on earth, we'll have to learn that it's not achieved by fuzzy feelings or warm lighting, by the candles' glow or by the smell of pine and cider. (btw, i love all of these things!) Peace on earth will only be experienced when the King of Kings is acknowledged as such and is followed faithfully by those who claim his name.

I put the picture at the top here to remind us that the little one in the manger is not still a baby, but is the lamb who was slain, the one worthy to open the scrolls, the one who reigns with the Father and the Spirit, one God, forever.

Merry Christmas.

Celebrity in the Church

I'll admit it: I'm a sucker for celebrity status. That is, I desire it. I know as a pastor that I'm not supposed to say that, and so you'll be pleased to know that it's something I fight against. Preaching and praying for the "amen" is a difficult temptation, but one that I'm fighting.

In a recent tweet, Christianity Today asked what we'd like to see as an op/ed piece, and one thing I suggested along with many others was a look at some of the non-celebrity pastors around the world, "little guys and gals" who have less glitz, smaller churches, who are just slogging. And the reason is this:

We live in a celebrity culture. When a new conference is announced or a speaker is coming to town, it's the first thing we want to know: who's speaking? Is it someone whose book I've read and enjoyed? Does this person have some sort of status they can confer to me? This is not always the case, I'll admit. Sometimes I'm looking for someone I'd like to hear because I respect what they have said in the past. More often, though, it's the former. I want to be able to say I heard so-and-so at a conference. I want to say it off-hand, like we're on a first-name basis, because I become someone by extension when they're someone.

And it's killing us.

It's killing pastors and churches all over the world. Many latch onto a certain personality because they recognize star-status when they see it. Women (or men) flock, and feel a sense of buzz when the pastor "notices" them. I've seen it even over at Stuff Christians Like, not in the post, but in the comments section, where people admitted to being "weirded out" when seeing their pastor in the wild. They admitted to hiding or cringing because they didn't want to bother or be noticed by this influential man. That should disturb EVERYONE, from pastor to parishoner!

The disturbance is seen in the flocking of the sheep from smaller congregations to the "celebrity" church down the street. I don't have a problem with larger churches, but the mindset that drives us to build up the celebrity is disturbing, troubling, and really very insidious.

So how can we fight it? How can we as pastors (and parishoners) fight the concept of Christian celebrity?

One of the ways I try (in my modest way) is to point to Jesus. I've told people from the pulpit and in private that if you need me as a pastor at your function, the problem lies in your function. If you need ME there to pray, there's a deeper problem than no one showing up to prayer meeting.

It's my prayer that I, and my fellow pastors, would be such diligent servants that our churches would thrive in faithfulness and service to the community.

peace.

time to reminisce

I had lunch with a friend yesterday, a friend I hadn't seen in a good long while, a friend who used to share his talents in a band in which I drummed and sang back-up vocals. We were (wait for it)...


ED, the band.

Just for the record, we weren't all that good. We were young, inexperienced, and we were really huge goof-offs. But MAN did we have a good time playing together.

The synergy of the band made me reflect on the nature of community and how well we in the "institutional" church are able to work together, both internally and inter-church communication and collaboration. What was it about the band that made us connect in such great ways?

1. We practiced. We actually practiced a lot, and we really enjoyed practicing together.
2. We were involved, all of us, in the creative process. We didn't just get handed a sheet of music and play what was written. We added in our own dynamics, brought our gifts and personalities into the process.
3. We were together for a reason, and for the same reason. All of us wanted to play our music. We didn't sit around and complain that we weren't punk, or ska, or blues, or whatever. We played what we enjoyed playing and we played it because we loved it.
4. We liked each other. Not all the time, but most of the time :). I played with a good group of guys, and we enjoyed one another's company!

Applications for church? Maybe. But I want to percolate. I don't necessarily like drawing church conclusions from non-church sources, but there may be some application. For now, let me assure you, faithful reader, that there will come a time to sample some tasty "Ed, the band" treats. Once we find the recordings. And digitize them. Hold your breath :)

Mike

Slippery Slope

Today in Calgary, ice hockey took to the streets. Rather, the streets turned into skating rinks. I've had tweets and facebook updates from friends saying it took anywhere from 2.5-4 hours to get home tonight because of the condition of the roads. And that's just no fun. I tried to drive to our old house (we moved about a 45 second drive away on Saturday) and couldn't make it...too much traffic. Police and Fire everywhere. Line-up of hundreds of cars. It was crazy.

And it got me thinking.

It got me thinking of the "slippery slope" arguments I hear used so often. People will say that acceptance of female pastors is a slippery slope to acceptance of homosexual pastors. People say that the emerging church movement is a slippery slope into the bowels of liberalism. People say that Arminianism is a slippery slope into Pelagianism and Humanism and that Calvinism is a slippery slope to either Universalism or hyper-Restrictivism.

All that to say, I get nervous. I think the overuse of the slippery slope argument may be a slippery slope into writing off someone's belief system before really taking a look at what it says. It's almost like a constant temptation toward reductio ad absurdum. Scary stuff.

What am I saying?

I'm saying that maybe it's time for a little charity in our discussions with one another. I know I've played this harp before, but I think it bears repeating. If you think someone is handing you a slippery slope argument, tread carefully and hear them out. Work it out.

Or better yet, just stay home and avoid the accidents :)

Peace from the GWN (great white north)!

Love in the 'Burbs

I've heard a lot of people talking about the decline of western civilization and the advent of the suburbs. I've heard talk about the death of spirituality and the theologically bleak landscape associated with suburbia. I've heard of the theological pitfalls of abandoning "unsafe" zones in cities (don't get me started on what i've read about cities in general) for the relative and dangerous "peace of mind" of the suburbs. Funny enough, I agree with a lot of what I've read in this area. What troubles me, though, is the idea that seems prevalent, that we must abandon the suburbs to ensure good theological practice.

A few thoughts:
1. While the idea of suburbia may be morally reprehensible at best and narcissistically delusional at worst (or maybe demonic at worst?), I'm surprised at the number of voices clamouring to abandon the 'burbs. Where else in society do we hear this from Christians? If pornography is evil (and it is) do we abandon art, or do we seek the redemption of God in the area of the arts? If heavy metal is evil (and of course it is :)), do we abandon music, or do we seek its redemption? The same can be said of relationships, food, religion, everything with which we interact. It may be, it's true, that at the end God decides that some things are better amputated than transformed, but even then, that's God's decision.

2. The 'burbs are not hell. They may approximate hell, with the rampant greed and individualism. They may resemble hell with the blatant disregard for neighbour. But they are not hell. They need not be treated as hell.

3. God loves suburbanites. Enough said.

4. I am not a liberation theologian (proper), though I believe God has a special place in God's heart for the poor, the downtrodden, and the outcast. Does this special heart not include the poor in spirit (not the Matthew 5 version, but the truly destitute of spirituality), the downtrodden by self, and the outcast from outreach?

I believe many are called to live among the poor, to minister there, to be there (I'm talking the physical poor). I believe we're all called to care for the poor in different ways. But I DO NOT believe we're called to abandon the rich. They need Jesus.

I say this as a bit of a self-serving statement, because I live in the suburbs. We just bought a new house in the 'burbs. And I try to rationalize sometimes by saying "oh, we'll use the house to serve others" and you can bet your sweet backside we will. I'm partially, in this statement, trying to self-justify because I feel guilty for the expense. Should I? I don't know. That's my struggle.

But until I do know, I will do this: I will seek to represent Christ to the hurting in my neighbourhood, whether the hurt be self-inflicted or otherwise.

I read a book called "Justice in the 'Burbs" and it was a great start, but when I finished the book, I was sad, because the only way the authors seemed to think justice could be accomplished in the burbs was to leave the burbs and go downtown.

I have many friends in inner city ministry, who live in the inner city and minister to the materially poor, the mentally ill, the criminal, and the destitute. And I love those friends. But they're not ministering to the people in my neighbourhood. The people in my neighbourhood need a minister too. And so, here I will stay until God calls me out.

I believe God loves the poor. I believe God loves the rich. And I believe God calls me to minister to both.

Thoughts?

look alikes?

Over at out of ur, Url's been giving us a glimpse into theologians and celebrities separated at birth. I had a few more thoughts:

1. Chris Cooper and John Shelby Spong

While not much of a theologian, Spong is what Cooper must look like in 20 years :)

2. And then there's Rowan Williams and Dumbledore...i mean, come on!!!

3. I even see a resemblance here?:

Any others worth mentioning?

Love One Another

I was surfing the net the other night, taking a break from writing my sermon, and I came upon a bunch of posts from a forum I used to frequent. It was a lot of fun reading old posts, seeing what I used to be like, how I've changed, where my blind spots were (I'm still working on where they ARE!).

The reason for this post today is mostly surprise. I was, and am, constantly surprised at how unbelievably mean we can be to one another in the church. Is it any wonder people call Christians "hypocrites"? Our mandate is to "love your neighbour as yourself" and we substitute "browbeat your neighbour into intellectual submission because of the ferocity of your argument."

One caveat, of course, is the lack of perfection found in the poster as well as in the post. I'm not always nice. Ask my wife. It shames me, but it is the way it is sometimes.

Back to the thought: what if radical discipleship is not just the way we treat Jesus and the way we treat the world? What if radical discipleship (or heck, just plain discipleship) had (gasp) a lot to do with how we treat other Christians?

I've argued a lot in my day. I've probably deleted more internet posts than I've posted because of a self-censoring mechanism coming into play (need that more often!). What I've come to realize is this: if I do whatever it takes to win, even if I win, I lose. I've learned this painfully and slowly, but it's become part of my regular schtick with premarital counselling. You can either be right 100% of the time, or married. Never both.

This week I'm preaching through Acts 2 and part of the magic of Acts is that God adds people to their number when they are seen living the way they ought. When they give to each other, care for each other, and care for the world, something powerful happens.

What if we learned to graciously concede our arguments, or at least shelf them for the time being? What if it turns out that living a Spirit-filled communal life is more important than the truth or falsity of supralapsarianism? What if the calvinism/arminianism, complementarian/egalitarian, potato/poTAHto debates didn't go away, but became a lot more civil? What if instead of slinging mud, we slung grace, much like the grace that's be slung our way?

That's a modest proposal for today.

Long Time Coming

I don't know if anyone reads this anymore. So much has happened since January that I'm scared to post!

However, I think I will, even if it's just this once.

Today was a service with a little wreath and two Canadian flags at the front of the sanctuary. I don't like the flags there, but that's neither here nor there. Today was the Sunday before Remembrance Day in Canada. Canadians celebrate Remembrance Day on November 11, in honour of the cease-fire (i think) signed Nov. 11, 1918, at 11:00. It's a day to honour fallen veterans and those still living.

I'm a pastor and a pacifist and I'm still wrestling with how I should approach these kinds of days. We still have veterans in our church. I don't want to offend but I certainly don't want to bow to pressure to capitulate and just celebrate this day.

And so today I tried to walk a fine line. Instead of a moment of silence, I asked if we could pray, and while i don't have the audio of the prayer handy, i remember a bit. I remember praying, telling God that we hate having to live like war is a necessity, that we're grateful for the semblance of peace we enjoy but that we wait for true shalom in the coming of the Son.

I don't if it pleased anyone or displeased anyone, but I do know that it eased my conscience, knowing that even in our division about the necessity of war we could all unite as one to pray for peace.

It's a tough day, Nov. 11. For everyone!

Blessings.