Moderate Christianity

Ray Ortlund post:  At the door

The church at Laodicea was in danger of judgment.  What offended the Lord was not their intense sin but their moderate Christianity: “You are neither cold nor hot.  Would that you were either cold or hot!  You are lukewarm” (Revelation 3:15-16).

They weren’t heretical or wacko.  They were somewhere in the mushy middle.  They neither promoted the gospel nor opposed it.  They thought the Bible had some good ideas, but they didn’t relish it.  They wanted their kids to grow up moral, but not missional.  They found some space in their busy weekend schedule for going to church, but they didn’t redesign their whole lives around the cause of the gospel.  Jesus would not put up with it: “I will spit you out of my mouth” (verse 16).  There is a kind of Christianity that Jesus finds distasteful.

But still, Jesus lovingly reached out to them: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock.  If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (verse 20).  He didn’t force himself on them.  He offered himself with a humble knock on their door.

Notice the word “anyone.”  He didn’t say “If the pastor hears” or “If the elders hear” but “Ifanyone hears my voice.”  Martyn Lloyd-Jones, in his book on revival, observes a striking pattern in Christian history.  A new movement of blessing never begins by a majority vote.  It begins when one person, or a small group of people, “begin to feel this burden, and they feel the burden so much that they are led to do something about it. . . . It may be anybody.”

Don’t think you can’t do anything.  Don’t wait for someone else.  Jesus offers himself to anyone: “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door . . . .”

Redemption

Trevin Wax blog post:  Metanarrative and Redemption in Film: O Brother Where Art Thou?

Nick Rynerson is a Christian and a music and film lover. He blogs at Gospel Community Culture and writes a weekly column on Country music for Christ and Pop Culture. Nick is a part of Charis Community Church in Normal, Illinois. His interests include taking his beautiful fiancé on dates, playing the mandolin, and reading. Twitter: @Nick_Rynerson

O Brother, Where Art Thou? was the most influential film that I watched growing up. It just sort of made sense to me. Maybe it was the sepia-tinted landscape, the old-timey music, or the dry and witty dialogue that first hooked me, but since then (I think I was 12 when I first saw it), for innumerable reasons, it has sucked me back in.

When I became a Christian, O Brother took on another level of spiritual significance. While it is by no means a “Christian film” (nor am I sure there is such a thing), the theological and deeply human truths of the film are resounding and beautifully packaged. And after dozens of viewings, every time I still come away with a whole new appreciation for the film.

Set in the Mississippi Delta during the mid 1930s (an amazing time and place culturally and musically), the story centers on three unlikely conspirators breaking off of the chain gang. While loosely based on Homer’s The Odyssey (although the Coen brothers claim to have never actually read it…), the story takes the aggressive Pete, the simple yet kindhearted Delmar, and the wanna-be bourgeois fast-talker Everett through the Deep South in search of Everett’s “treasure.” Along the way, they run into a Delta Blues singer who supposedly sold his soul to the devil, a traveling, one-eyed Bible salesmen, “Babyface” Nelson, and the governor of Mississippi.

The film paints the landscape in an idyllic and beautiful yet simple light (which probably explains why I think of the South in the 1930s like Owen Wilson thinks of Paris in the 1920s in Midnight in Paris, but that is another blog for a another time). The landscape lends to the story’s progression by being a moral constant: there is very little ambiguity in what is good and what is evil. It is Eden-esque in the sense that the land seems to be uncorrupted. The joyful bluegrass spirituals and old time folk lend themselves to this notion. The idea of a simpler time and clearly defined right and wrong evoke a longing for a time past, but the people themselves are a different story…

From the start of the film, our trio of heroes needs to be redeemed. Everett, Delmar, and Pete are running toward a new life and away from their old life in bondage, searching for a treasure that will absolve their former sins.

Take, for instance, the baptisms of Delmar and Pete. In one of the most powerful scenes in the film, Pete and Delmar see a congregation going down to the river to baptize their people and jump into the water with them. For them, it’s an absolution of the guilt that they had been wrestling with. And although it is met with dry, pessimistic scorn from Everett (the one in the group “capable of abstract thought”) and lends itself to a little jesting (“even if it did put you square with the Lord, the state of Mississippi is a little more hard nosed”), this freedom visibly tints the demeanor of these two characters for the rest of the film. In the process of the film (and in Scripture), the individual salvations are only a part of the great salvation process (2 Cor. 5:19; Rev. 21:5a) that spans the duration of the story.

Much like the story of redemption, O Brother starts with the words of a prophet (Gen. 3:15) and ends with a (literal and figurative) washing away of Satan and sin in fulfillment of a strikingly biblical narrative. While the characters do not represent that pinnacle of morality, it is their faith that carries them from desolation to treasure. Like the crooks, thieves, adulterers, and prisoners of Scripture that are redeemed despite their immoral witlessness, Pete, Delmar, and Everett are pardoned and rescued almost in spite of themselves. Actually, completely in spite of themselves.

One reason why I can always (always) come back to O Brother, Where Art Thou? is because of the triumphant hope that I know will somehow succeed despite the dire straits the characters are in: from seconds away from being lynched to almost being burned alive in a barn to being turned into a toad! I had that perspective in my everyday life. O Brother gets its power from the reality of the restoration it allegorically captures, and Scripture has promised a complete restoration (1 Thess. 4:16-17), yet I treat my everyday stressors like the world is collapsing! Films like this give us a bird’s eye view of what is to come, specifically, hardships, peril, heartache, drudgery, and then finally, glory.

While the Coen brothers may not have explicitly known that they were constructing a portrait of Christian salvation, they were well aware of the human longing for redemption. This is why art (especially art made by non-Christians) is so important. O Brother, Where Art Thou? can be a great reminder of who you are and where you are going.

I am thankful for the common grace of the Coen brothers and particularly this film. As a film enthusiast, I have seen a whole lot of movies, and I can confidently say that none of them tells me so well “you have been justified by faith alone; yeah, it is going to be a hard road, but there is hope at the end. Just hold on.”

Glorious Freedom

Scotty Smith post:  A Prayer about Present Groaning and Future Glory

 I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. 

     We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Rom. 8:18-24

     Most holy and gracious Father… first of all, please know that I do not presume upon the privilege of knowing you as my Father and, by the Spirit, calling you Abba. What a sacred honor and joyful reality. It’s only because of the work of Jesus that I dare refer to you by such an intimate and comforting name. I praise you for adopting me into your eternal family and into your magnificent future.

     Indeed, Father, I’m stunned and stirred as I think about the future you’ve secured for us—your beloved children, and for the whole of creation—a future that puts all suffering, decay, and bondage into perspective. The Day of no more death, mourning, crying or pain has never looked better.

     Oh, that I might know more of the “eager expectation” for “glorious freedom” that marked Paul’s life and gave meaning to his inward groans—and the groans within creation, itself. Forgive me when I do more self-centered whining than God-glorifying groaning, Father.

     Let me groan as your child who is pregnant with glory—your son longing to be your glorified son, completely free, gloriously free. I don’t want just to quote Paul but join Paul in proclaiming, “I consider that the present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed.”

    Glorious freedom—may those two words be tattooed on my heart, become an irrepressible melody in my spirit, and be the lens through which I see your hand at work everywhere. We’re destined, not just freedom, but for glorious freedom—freedom filled with your glory…

     Please, Father, open the eyes of my heart wider to behold the glory to be revealed in us and in creation. Too much of the time all I see is the brokenness of the world, not the beauty of your hand. Heal me of spiritual myopia. Do gospel laser surgery so that I can behold these things more clearly, and live and love accordingly.

     In the midst of decay, I want to be for your delight. In the frustrations of creation, let me savor the firstfruits of your salvation. Rather than being weighed down by present sufferings, I want to be hope-filled about future liberation. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ strong and saving name.

Make the Most of What God Gives

After looking at the way things are on this earth, here's what I've decided is the best way to live: Take care of yourself, have a good time, and make the most of whatever job you have for as long as God gives you life. And that's about it. That's the human lot. Yes, we should make the most of what God gives, both the bounty and the capacity to enjoy it, accepting what's given and delighting in the work. It's God's gift! God deals out joy in the present, the now. It's useless to brood over how long we might live.


Ecclesiastes 5: 18-20  [Message]

One True Story

Kathleen Nielson post:  Many Echoes But Only One True Story

We all know periodic moments in which, suddenly, we seem to see clearly---as if a veil lifts or a bell rings. I recently experienced such a moment while traveling in Indonesia with my husband. Before our visits to a number of Christian schools, we spent a couple days in and around the ancient capital of Jogjakarta in central Java.

The moment came as we toured the impressive ninth-century Hindu Prambanan Temple. First we climbed the steep, uneven stone steps of a shrine encasing a huge statue of Brahma---who turned out to have four heads with four distinct faces. I had been studying Revelation 4. So a picture immediately sprang to mind of a heavenly throne room, with four living creatures surrounding the throne, the first like a lion, the second like an ox, the third with a face like a man, and the fourth like an eagle in flight. In Ezekiel's corresponding vision, each of these four living creatures has four faces. As we were climbing back down, our guide explained some of the carvings in the walls around us, one being a portrayal of a great flood, with a floating ark held up by a fish, an avatar of the god Vishnu.

The clear sense of biblical echoing brought back some of the stories we had heard the previous day, touring another huge ninth-century stone temple---a Buddhist one, called Borobudur. There we had seen even more intricate carvings and heard from our guide the corresponding stories: for example, of the immaculate conception of Buddha, through a white elephant who entered his mother's side during a dream . . . of evil spirits attacking babies in the womb, because they heard about a god to be born who would destroy all evil.

I commented to our guide on the remarkable correspondences of such stories in various faiths. He enthusiastically agreed, mentioning that he himself was Muslim but found it enlivening to carry all the versions of such tales in his imagination as he conducted his tours to the various temples. He could find good in them all. As we stood there and chatted, the loud afternoon call to prayer began to ring out from the tall, shining minaret of a nearby mosque. There we stood, having been enfolded by sights and sounds of Muslim, Buddhist, and Hindu faiths.

 Echoes and Fragments

The bell ringing for me in that moment was the remarkable echoing of the Christian faith in all directions. Through their prayers, their temples, their carvings, and all the associated stories and beliefs, these religions have not been able to create something new. They have in large part echoed, fragmented, and revised the truth. Satan and his forces ultimately lack creativity, not replacing but perverting the one true story of the universe revealed in the Bible. The very fact that many religions and myths involve sacrifices to appease the wrath of the gods points to a universal sense of sin and guilt---and a universal need for the perfect Lamb of God who offered himself as a sacrifice for us.

What emerges, from a biblical perspective, is not a group of parallel religions but rather a remarkable set of evidences for the one true one. Echoings of the true story validate that story in the end and point to the futility of trying to construct another. If the Bible speaks truly, then those dusty, shadowy ancient temples---and the shiny new mosque next door---represent false, futile attempts to rewrite the story revealed to human beings by our Creator in his inspired Word. They ultimately reject the Word made flesh, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

It helps to remember that we Christians don't in the eyes of heaven represent one seat at a worldwide table of competing powers. There is only one true temple, only one God in the heavenly throne room surrounded by those four heavenly creatures that evidence his reflection and dominion in every part of his creation. There is only one continually echoed story, the one that starts in Genesis and reaches through Revelation into the hope of eternity with God himself.

Such a remembering, such a moment as this one for me, makes the communication of the good news of Jesus Christ not only more urgent but also most reasonable . . . the one true story of the universe written and revealed by our Creator Redeemer God, for all the nations of the world and ultimately for the glory of his Son.

Not Our Goal

Tullian Tchividjian post:  The Sermon On The Mount For Those Who Have Crashed and Burned

Last week I finished a nine week series on the Sermon on the Mount entitled “The Glorious Impossibility.” I opened the series by saying that we naturally treat the Sermon on the Mount like we typically treat the rest of the Bible–like it’s a divine self-help manual, a blueprint for having your best life now. But actually the Sermon on the Mount is intended to show that the Christian life is a glorious impossibility.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus wants to set us free by showing us our need for a rightness we can never attain on our own–an impossible righteousness that’s always out of our reach. The purpose of the Sermon on the Mount is to demolish all notions that we can reach the righteousness required by God–it’s about exterminating all attempts at self-sufficient moral endeavor.

So, in the deepest sense, the Sermon on the Mount is not a goal, but a wall we crash into so that we finally cry out “I can’t do it!”

You can watch/listen to the entire series here.

Here is part 1:

The Glorious Impossibility: Part 1 | Tullian Tchividjian from Coral Ridge | LIBERATE onVimeo.

God's Story

Sally Lloyd-Jones post:  Teaching Children the Bible Is Not About Them

When I go into churches and speak to children I ask them two questions:

First, how many people here sometimes think you have to be good for God to love you?

They tentatively raise their hands. I raise my hand along with them.

And second, how many people here sometimes think that if you aren’t good, God will stop loving you?

They look around and again raise their hands.

These are children in Sunday schools who know the Bible stories. These are children who probably also know all the right answers — and yet they have somehow missed the most important thing of all.

They have missed what the Bible is all about.

They are children like I once was.

As a child, even though I was a Christian, I grew up thinking the Bible was filled with rules you had to keep (or God wouldn’t love you) and with heroes setting examples you had to follow (or God wouldn’t love you).

I tried to be good. I really did. I was quite good at being good. But however hard I tried, I couldn’t keep the rules all the time so I knew God must not be pleased with me.

And I certainly couldn’t ever be as brave as Daniel. I remember being tormented by that Sunday school chorus, “Dare to be a Daniel” because, hard as I tried to imagine myself daring to be a Daniel, being thrown to lions and not minding... who was I kidding? I knew I’d be terrified out of my skull. I knew I would just say: “OK yes whatever you say! Just don’t throw me to the lions! Don’t pull out my fingernails! Make it stop!”

I knew I wasn’t nearly brave enough. Or faithful enough. Or good enough.

How could God ever love me?

I was sure he couldn’t.

One Sunday, not long ago, I was reading the story of Daniel and the Scary Sleepover fromThe Jesus Storybook Bible to some 6 year olds during a Sunday school lesson. One little girl in particular was sitting so close to me she was almost in my lap. Her face was bright and eager as she listened to the story, utterly captivated. She could hardly keep on the ground and kept kneeling up to get closer to the story.

At the end of the story there were no other teachers around and I panicked and went into automatic pilot and heard myself — to my horror — asking, “And so what can we learn from Daniel about how God wants us to live?”

And as I said those words it was as if I had literally laid a huge load on that little girl. Like I broke some spell. She crumpled right in front of me, physically slumping and bowing her head. I will never forget it.

It is a picture of what happens to a child when we turn a story into a moral lesson.

When we drill a Bible story down into a moral lesson, we make it all about us. But the Bible isn’t mainly about us, and what we are supposed to be doing — it’s about God, and what he has done!

When we tie up the story in a nice neat, little package, and answer all the questions, we leave no room for mystery. Or discovery. We leave no room for the child. No room for God.

When we say, “Now what that story is all about is…”, or “The point of that story is…” we are in fact totally missing the point. The power of the story isn’t in summing it up, or drilling it down, or reducing it into an abstract idea.

Because the power of the story isn’t in the lesson.

The power of the story is the story.

And that’s why I wrote The Jesus Storybook Bible. So children could know what I didn’t:

That the Bible isn’t mainly about me, and what I should be doing. It’s about God and what he has done.

That the Bible is most of all a story — the story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them.

That — in spite of everything, no matter what, whatever it cost him — God won’t ever stop loving his children… with a wonderful, Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love.

That the Bible, in short, is a Story — not a Rule Book — and there is only one Hero in the Story.

I wrote The Jesus Storybook Bible so children could meet the Hero in its pages. And become part of his Magnificent Story.

Because rules don’t change you.

But a Story — God’s Story — can.