Tell someone about your commitment, and ask them to hold you accountable. Make this a sacred time for just you and God. No phones, no distractions. It’s a holy time when you come to the secret place. Jealously guard it. Fight to defend that time. It is precious to you. You can (and should) of course pray at other times throughout the day, but it’s important to have a time that’s devoted solely to prayer. Continue reading
We read in John 15:7, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you will, and it shall be done for you.” In the past (although I wouldn’t have described it this way), I’d see that verse as evidence that I couldn’t really pray until I felt that I was aligned with the will of God more completely. In other words, that I needed to pull myself up by the bootstraps to a place of holier will and desires before I could pray prayers that “got results.” But that’s really backwards and giving myself an illusion of control or power that no person has. Through prayer, God changes me. I don’t change myself so that I can pray. Continue reading
Here’s the thing: What we really believe about prayer is revealed in our prayer lives. [Ouch.] If we really believed that “Without God, [we] can’t, but without [us] He won’t,” how would the world – not just our lives – but the world be different? How would history be different? Or, to a more fruitful set of questions: how can and will the world be different? How can we surrender to and partner with God to change history?” Continue reading
“… you know you could be different if you prayed how you are called to pray.” Continue reading
God answered a prayer for me about a struggle I’ve been having – with prayer. A prayer I didn’t even realized that I WAS praying until He answered it. Continue reading
Here’s another article I wrote for our church newsletter. Deron will be back next week, but I’ve appreciated the chance to stretch my writing muscles while he’s been gone!
On Sunday, we sang The Bread Has Been Broken before we joined together in communion. There’s a section of that song that’s been replaying in my head since Sunday morning: “His death reconciled us;/ we live sanctified to become what we already are.”
To become what we already are. This line brings to mind for me something that a speaker at an Elmwood women’s retreat said a few years ago. She said that a guiding statement in her life was “Imago Dei: Who I am and who I am becoming.” (Imago Dei is Latin for “the Image of God.”)
The most exciting part of the creation account to me is that God decides to make Adam and Eve in His image. How awesome is that?! Just by being alive and being human you are already an image-bearer of God. You are Imago Dei. Everyone you meet is Imago Dei. Hold that in your heart for a moment and see if you don’t get excited. That’s some good news, people!
On the flip side, however, I don’t think that any of us would say, “This livin’ like Jesus thing? I’ve got it down pat. I am holy as God is holy. Done and done.” We’re just not there. We all fall short. We’re image-bearers who also bear the dust, bruises, and scars from falling short of our holy callings on a daily basis. We must be about the work of becoming.
I think this is part of what makes the good news of Christ’s redemptive work in our lives so very good – I’m talking “good” in the creation-narrative-and-God-saw-that-it-was-good sense. Jesus, by His life and death, makes it possible for us to be restored to our original state of Imago Dei. Don’t miss that God twice makes us “what we already are”: first in lovingly creating us in His image and again in graciously sanctifying us and restoring us to that state of shalom goodness.
God patiently and faithfully stays with us as we live in a perpetual state of “becoming,” all the while knowing that “we already are.” It’s like the inaugurated eschatology (there’s your $2 theological term for the day) I mentioned last week regarding God’s kingdom – we are already what God created us to be but not yet fully.
We are still in the season of Epiphany – the season in which we recognize that Jesus is, in the fullest sense, Imago Dei and the Son of the Most High God, that He is fully God. In two weeks, however, is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent. For centuries, Christians around the world have observed the Lenten season as a time of repentance and reflection as they prepare to commemorate the death and burial of Christ and celebrate His resurrection. It seems so fitting to me that we move from a season of recognizing who Jesus truly is to a season of repenting and recognizing that we are not yet fully who we were created to be and who we “already are.” May every season of your life be a season of “becoming” and growing into whom God made you and then redeemed you to be. May we each be reminded this week of who Jesus is and what He’s done for us to enable us to keep becoming more like Him.
This is a post I had started for this blog, but I had the opportunity to write our Campus Minister’s column for our church newsletter for this week and next while he’s away at his DMin residency at Lipscomb, so I published it in our newsletter.
Jeffrey and I recently watched the acclaimed Ken Burns’ documentary, The Civil War. This nine-part series takes a detailed, critical look at the death and destruction that consumed our country during the four-year war through the lens of personal memoirs of different people from all walks of life. It was fascinating. As interesting as the documentary was, however, it was even more devastating and disturbing. Many of you may know that I’m a pacifist. The violence of war and of slavery are viscerally and physically sickening to me. The hatred and depth of racial discrimination is almost more than I can bear to consider.
Not long after we finished the documentary, we watched Lee Daniel’s The Butler, a fictional story (based loosely on a true story) that chronicles the life of a man who was born in Georgia in the 1920s into a sharecropping family (really something that was closer to slavery than any of the cooperation implied by “share”) and then saw his father casually murdered without provocation by the landowner. The protagonist eventually came to be a butler in the White House, from which vantage point he saw the turbulent civil rights movement span eight presidencies.
As I lay awake one night after having watched these two pieces, I was struck by the recentness of it all. We live in a world where we have video – video! – of Civil War veterans speaking and shaking hands over the memorialized battle line at Gettysburg. Men who fought in the Civil War lived in our modern age! We live in a world where a person born into what amounted to slavery – a world where black men could be killed by white men without consequence – could live through times of sit-ins, freedom rides, school integration, and countless acts (seen and unseen) of prejudice-motivated violence to see a black man become president!
It hurt me more, somehow, to realize how recent all of it is. I found myself longing to live in some distant land without a recent history of violence and racial discrimination and oppression. I didn’t want any of these bloody wars or any of the racial turmoil to be part of the past or, more precisely, the present, of the country in which I live. I thought of maybe Sweden or Norway, mostly because I don’t know much about either of those countries, and thought maybe that was because terrible things hadn’t happened there (history isn’t really my thing). Guess what: even the Swedes and Norwegians have had (and still have) their violence and racial rifts.
What I’m really longing for is not an area of land bound by imaginary lines that only exist on a map. What I’m longing for is for God’s Kingdom to be here in its entirety. It’s already here, but not yet fully. I’m longing for it to be fully present and realized.
Deron’s been reminding us that, in this season of Epiphany, we are celebrating the manifesting of Jesus as the Son of God. One of the ways we’re called to celebrate is by showing the world that the Prince of Peace is here! The King – who forsook everything for all peoples, for all times – reigns! We are to be light in the darkness around us – the darkness of our country’s past and the darkness of our present realities of continuing hatred and violence. Let us strive to be lights of the peace and the love of Christ together, ‘til Kingdom come (fully).