The New Church Registry Book

I put a hit-meter on this blog some months ago. January 7th, to be exact.

I’m sure it was because I wanted to know how many people were dropping by so I could feel good about it in my very Diotrophesian way.

When I went to the site offering the free counter, I had a choice to make: Visits? or Unique Visitors?

The first just counts how many times someone drops by. The second counts how many new people drop by (or at least how many new computer addresses drop by, since some folks – especially dialup folks – may have a different one every time they log on to the ‘Net). If they come back with the same address assigned by their ISP (Internet Service Provider), they aren’t counted.

So I chose the second option. It’s not as informative as the first, for the reason I just described, but I was curious.

It turns out that this blog is getting visited, on average right now, by about 1,300 new “people” a month.

I don’t have a fancy stats package that tells me how many of them are robots or spiders (poking around on my site for the search engines) and how many are genuine human beings. Or ingenuine human beings.

I don’t have a clue how long the real ones stay, what they read, or where they go when they leave. I can’t tell you who’s coming and going, where they’re from or what they’re looking for. I don’t know who all the regulars are (well, among the lurkers; I can pretty much tell you who the commenters would be!).

I have no idea if they just duck their heads in and look around, sit down on a pew and absorb, skim, doze off, or do other things while forgetting that they’ve opened a window to here.

What’s really sent a chill down my spine is the realization that I have a pulpit here. A rather bully pulpit, actually. I can say whatever is on my heart here, and even if someone disagrees, I can go right on saying it.

And that there are possibly more new people checking out this cyber-pulpit each month than there are dropping in on my real-world church of 1700+ members each year.

That’s just downright scary to me.

EmergingEvangelism.com

Justin over at RadicalCongruency is starting a group blog called Emerging Evangelism. He says:

The purpose of this site is to discuss evangelism in a postmodern, emerging-church context. Why another blog?

  • The need for a group of people to be thinking together on this important topic
  • The need for a more neutral and anonymous place to discuss this sensitive topic other than personal blogs
  • The need for a more centralized place to have this conversation

If you are interested in joining, please email me at justin at baederresources.com with your:

  • Name
  • Blog URL
  • Church context & background (briefly)

I would like to have as many contributors as possible, but for a variety of reasons it’s going to be limited to those who already have a blog (mainly to prevent it from becoming someone’s personal blog where they start to post livejournal memes and other junk).

Why should you think about contributing?

  • There has not been enough conversation on evangelism in the emerging church
  • Consequently, people are often still thinking in terms inappropriate for their contexts
  • Much has been learned about evangelism in postmodern/emerging contexts, and the knowledge needs to be found, shared, and discussed
  • It hasn’t all been figured out yet – there remains a great theological task to be done

I hope you’ll consider joining. The site will go live in a few days; hopefully, there will be a dozen or so contributors ready to post by then.

If you’ve read Justin’s January post Evangelism Re:Mixed, you’ve got a fair idea where this idea of his is headed. To update his quote above, the site IS live already (and active and sharper than most two-edged swords).

All I Can Change Is Me

I confess I love to read blogs that talk about a church that is emerging from old limitations and sometimes indefensible restrictions.

I crave the ideas that posit what that church might look like.

I even feast on the ones which decry the way it looks now, though I usually feel guilty afterwards (and even more guilty when I’ve written one)!

So I’m going to share some of my more recent guilty pleasures with you:

But even as I read and gobble down the extraordinary insights, dire prophecies and heavenly visions … I keep coming back to the profound observation I read last year on a long-lost blog, to the effect that “The emerging church will only happen after there are emerging Christians.”

And I have to accept the fact that all I can change is me.

Correction: All I can do is let Christ change me.

What The Rich Man Lacked

Normally, I wouldn’t repeat one of my posts from What Would Jesus Do Now?, but it also happens to be a pretty good summation of what I intend to share in chapel Monday morning at my children’s school. So if you’re curious about what I’ll say to several hundred kindergarten-through-sixth-graders, read this version:

How many of you have too much stuff? I mean you have so much stuff you can’t find a place to keep it all in your room and it’s hard to keep it clean?

How many of you have parents who have so much stuff that they have to rent a storage space to keep some of it in?

Well, today I’m going to tell you a story about a man who had too much stuff. It’s a story from the Bible, and it’s about Jesus and that man, so it’s in the New Testament. We have to put together the complete picture of this man from three different stories so we can really know what he’s like.

Mark 10:17-31 says he was a man. Matthew 19:16-29 says he was young. Luke 18:18-29 adds that he was a ruler.

They all agree that he was rich. He had a lot of wealth – a lot of money; a lot of stuff.

Mark adds a few interesting details that the others leave out, though, as they tell the story. Anxious to get into the story, Matthew and Luke leave out the fact that this rich young man ran up to Jesus and fell on his knees before Him. As if something was urgent. As if only Jesus could answer how to get the one thing he wanted most. As if he were begging, perhaps even worshipping, the One whom he intends to ask:

“Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“Why do you call Me good? Why do you ask Me about good?” Jesus answered. “Only God is good. – You know the commandments: Do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not steal, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother …”

And of the Ten Commandments, the Top Ten of the 613 precepts and commandments they would have both memorized for their bar mitzvahs, Jesus named only five of the six dealing with interpersonal relationships, and none of the first four about relating to God. Giving the young man the benefit of the doubt, perhaps, concerning those first ones – as if they go without saying – He omitted Number Ten and made it conspicuous by its absence: “Don’t covet.” That word “covet” means: “Don’t want what others have so badly that you feel like stealing it, or that you wish they didn’t have it and that you did.”

“All of these I have kept since I was a boy,” the young man responded.

Then Mark tells us a little something that Matthew and Luke don’t choose to: that Jesus – looking at him – loved him.

We don’t know who the man was. No one gives his name. Each of the Synoptic writers is stingy with details. And of all the people Jesus encountered, only this man is described as someone Jesus loved on sight. Wouldn’t you like to have that fact associated with your name, recorded in scripture and preserved for all time? That Jesus looked at you and loved you?

It makes me wonder if the young man was John Mark himself. As with his unique account of the young man who abandoned Jesus upon His arrest, leaving behind a (doubtless expensive) linen garment someone had grabbed, Mark does not name the “man” who ran up to Jesus and fell on his knees whom He loved at first sight. Some scholars have wondered if the young man who ran away was Mark. His mother was wealthy enough to have a house that would hold “many people” praying for the release of Peter and John from jail. Was it his money that kept drawing John Mark back home when he later became a missionary? Was he too embarrassed to identify himself as the young man Jesus loved?

Who could have more distinctly seen the look of love meant for him than the one kneeling down and gazing desperately up into the eyes of Jesus?

Whether the rich young ruler was John Mark or not, Jesus certainly did love him. And if he had followed all 613 precepts and commandments, he would have been generous in his giving and his hospitality, as the second tablets of stone required. Jesus doesn’t dispute his claim to have obeyed them all. But it was not enough. So Jesus told him:

“One thing you lack. Go sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. You’ll be perfect. Then come follow me.”

Now we discover why this poor fellow isn’t named. It would have been cruel to do so. Because his face fell, and he got up, and he went away sadly … because he was very wealthy, and had a lot of stuff.

It’s not something that Jesus tells everyone to do. Not quite. Although He does teach “Sell what you have and give to the poor,” He doesn’t include the word “all” or “everything.” It seems to be more like advice, to open one’s self to the joy of sacrificial giving.

But to the rich young ruler, He says “all” or “everything.” Why? Was it because if he tried to follow but kept all his stuff, he would always be looking back from the plow? Because he would not be able to understand Jesus’ call to perfection through sacrifice of self? And that treasure in heaven is never susceptible to moths or rust or theft? Was it because this young man’s stuff was the one thing between him and the thing he wanted most, to live forever with God?

Whatever the reason, he turned his back on the One who loved him. What a heartbreaking moment that must have been for Jesus – to see the young man turn and go! Possibly He couldn’t bear to watch. All three writers say that He turned to His followers and said: “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven! Children” – did Jesus actually call His friends “children”? Or was also He talking to the children from the verses before who were still around, hoping He would quit fooling around with the grownups and get back to playing with them? – “… how hard it is!”

How hard it is. Do you think Jesus was trying not to cry? It almost seems like He tried to lift His own spirit with a weak joke when the next thing He said was: “It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God!”

Can you imagine a camel trying to squeeze through that little hole in a needle that the thread goes through?

Maybe it wasn’t a joke, though. His followers didn’t think it was funny. They believed that God blesses those who obey with riches and power and stuff – why, that rich young man would have been a prime proof for them! They were amazed and blurted out to each other, “Well, who then can be saved?”

They had no concept what they were to be saved from. Jesus did. “With men this is impossible, but not with God. All things are possible with God.”

Peter stepped up to the challenge, to reassure himself and the others of their salvation: “But we’ve left everything to follow You!” (They had: even their families; Peter perhaps left his wife and her mother behind when they traveled.)

Now Jesus was reassuring, but with a note of warning as well: “You can depend on this: No one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for Me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields – and with them persecutions) and in the age to come, unending life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”

Then, following up on the gloomy mood which had taken Him again, He predicted His death and His resurrection and His plan … His plan to give up everything, including His life, so that others could live forever with God.

I left out something in this story. Did you catch what it was?

Jesus told the rich young ruler – the man who had everything – that there was one thing he lacked.

He never told him what it was.

What do you think the rich man lacked?

What was the one thing he wanted most?

And what was keeping him from it?

– from the accounts in Mark, Matthew and Luke

Jesus, Harvey and Being Perfect

I hope I’m not going crazy, but every once in a while I have these conversations with Jesus inside my head.

I try to keep them inside my head because I no longer work at home, and if I spoke my half of them out loud, my colleagues would think I was suffering from Elwood P. Dowd syndrome; chatting with an invisible six-foot white rabbit named Harvey, or worse.

One of those conversations went sort-of like this recently:

Me (reading Matthew 5:48 with my usual incredulity): “Lord, did you really say that? ‘Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’?”

Jesus (grinning): “My sheep recognize my voice.”

Me: “I recognized Your voice; I just wasn’t sure about the words! Don’t you know that’s impossible?”

Jesus: “With God, all things are possible.”

Me: “But with me, they aren’t. I can’t be perfect.”

Jesus: “Look, I make all things new.”

Me: “Lord, ‘new’ isn’t ‘perfect.’ And it’s been a long time since You made me new. Why should I even try to be perfect, when I can’t?”

Jesus: “Sell your possessions and give to the poor.”

Me: “There You go, changing the subject on me again! Oh, wait. — I remember; You told that rich young guy to sell his stuff if he wanted to be perfect. I know You said it would help me lay up treasure in heaven. But if I do, what will I eat here? What will I wear? What will I drive?”

Jesus: “Your Father knows you need all these things. Look for His kingdom and His righteousness first, and He’ll give them to you.”

Me (a little whiny now): “All right; all right. If I sell some things and give, will that make me perfect?”

Jesus: “Only the Father in heaven is good.”

Me (really worked up now): “Okay. Okay, I can be good. I can try. But can’t I just ‘be,’ Lord? Do I always have to ‘do’?”

Jesus: “Whatever you did for the least of my brothers, you did for Me. Whatever you did not do for them, you did not do for Me.”

Me (despondent): “But I don’t know what to do! I try to do some things. I teach now and then. I blog. I write those ‘HeartWorship’ things for the church bulletin to encourage others; I try to build up my friends; my family; my kids ….”

Jesus: “Do you really, really love me?”

Me (a bit hurt): “I think I do. I know I do. YOU know I do. –Hey, isn’t that what Peter said?”

Jesus (smiling again): “I have found my lost sheep.”

Me (relieved): “Whew!”

Jesus (still smiling, but looking at me intently with one index finger raised): “Feed my sheep. Be perfect.”

Conversations with Jesus can be really frustrating. It’s like He’s talking in riddles, or circles.

Especially when I only hear what I want to hear.

The Gift of Baptism

Stand back, folks; I feel a sermon comin’ on and I’m a-fixin’ to preach it:

Water baptism never saved anybody.

By itself, that is.

I believe that.

I also believe that no kind of “spirit baptism” has ever brought anyone into a close relationship with God. Of itself. And I can say the same for faith by itself, or confession or doing good deeds or accepting Jesus as your personal savior … by themselves.

Or any combination of the above.

The fact is, I believe in the sovereignty of God and of His Son. I believe the gospel proclaimed in spray-paint from virtually every highway underpass in the 1990s:

JESUS SAVES.

I don’t approve of the medium. Just the message.

The message of grace.

Nothing I’ve ever read in the Bible persuades me to believe otherwise.

Jesus forgives sins. He puts me in a relationship with His Father. Not my confession. Not my acceptance. Not my piety. Not my getting wet. Not even my getting filled.

He forgave the sins of a man who wanted to be healed badly enough for his friends to cut a hole in a roof and let him down through it. The man didn’t ask for his sins to be forgiven, but just to convince others that He had the authority to do so, Jesus healed him (Matthew 9:1-6; Mark 2:4-12; Luke 5:19-26).

Not to mention a sinful woman who lavished her tears on His feet (Luke 7:36-50).

And there’s certainly a strong implication of forgiveness in His reassurance to a thief on a cross at His side (Luke 23:39-44).

At the same time, I believe that God wants to bring us into a close relationship to Him; wants to forgive our sins; wants to save us – and wants to do so by transforming us from our old selves into the likeness of His Son (II Corinthians 3:18).

So I believe one of the ways God asks us to become like His Son is through obedience, which Jesus learned the hard way (Hebrews 5:7-9).

Another way is that God asks us to become like Jesus through the likeness of His death and burial and resurrection in baptism (Romans 6:4).

He asks us to imitate Christ, Who was Himself baptized to fulfill all righteousness (Matthew 3:14-16).

He wants us to receive His Spirit (Acts 2:38) just as that Spirit descended on Jesus at His baptism (Matthew 3:16; Mark 1:10; Luke 3:22; John 1:32).

He also asks us to imitate Christ, Who made the good confession of His own identity as God’s son (I Timothy 6:13).

I could go on and on with requests God has made of us to be like Jesus: sacrificial giving, sharing with others the message of our relationship with Him, supporting each other, worshipping from the heart, suffering rejection from non-believers, and so on.

How can any one of these requests be considered optional?

They’re all gifts from God.

But let me just talk about one; the one that gets short shrift most often: baptism.

It’s hard not to see water when scripture talks about baptism. John the baptizer performed it in a river. So did Jesus’ disciples. As did Philip. The water of baptism is compared by Peter to the floodwaters which saved Noah’s family from the evil of the surrounding world. There are lots more references, but you get the picture.

It’s also easy to see how the light reader – or the reader with an agenda or preconception – could confuse baptism with the giving of God’s Holy Spirit. They occur together frequently in scripture. The Spirit is spoken of as being “poured out” and people are said to be “filled with” Him.

Others have hashed out these issues to exhaustion; they’re not my primary focus here. My point is that water baptism is a gift from God – one of many – not to be lightly refused.

You doubt my perception that baptism is a gift from God?

Then what did Jesus mean when confronted by a question designed to trip Him up and His response was another trick question (Matthew 21:23-27; Luke 20:1-8): “John’s baptism – was it from heaven or from men?” It was more than a trick question. They knew that if they answered “From heaven,” He could ask them why they didn’t believe; if they answered “From men,” the believing people would stone them.

Jesus knew that baptism was a gift from heaven; was part of the way that the “voice crying out in the wilderness” John was preparing the way for Him. And He knew it was a way that would lead all the way to the cross and the tomb.

What a gorgeous picture from such a gory precedent! What potent portent! In baptism, we are privileged to “act out” Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection (Romans 6:4). It’s as if we’re washed clean the way water does to dirt, but it is by His blood cleansing our sin. It’s part of the way we join His bride; His family. Paul speaks of that relationship as so intimate that he compares it to a husband giving his wife a private bath (Ephesians 5:25-33).

Maybe there should be a baptismal commitment by the penitent that begins: “With this baptism I die to self; and with all my worldly and other-worldly affections I Thee endow ….”

It’s no wonder that God wants us to experience it; share it; be blessed and challenged by it!

How can we look at this gift and tell God, “That’s nice, but I’d like something different”? Or “Ooh, ooh! I want baptism! I just don’t want to get wet.”

That’d be like saying, “Ooh! Ooh! I want to be like Jesus! I just don’t want to do any of the things He did.”

At the same time, how can we view baptism as an end unto itself, rather than a means to an end? As if it were somehow divorced from Christ by its supposed co-equal importance? Or as if it were the only request God had made of us?

The trouble with Restoration churches is that we’ve tried to sell baptism as part of a package of minimum requirements, instead of as part of a plethora of requests from God to be like His Son and be challenged, blessed, and drawn closer to Him by them. As if there could be such a list of minimum requirements for being like Him, when Jesus Christ spent every day of His life on this earth finding new ways to walk the extra mile. As if anything we could do would even begin to merit the forgiveness, the salvation, the relationship with God that He provides.

Remember the highway underpass message?

JESUS SAVES

Sermon’s over. Move along, citizens. Go back to your lives.

I don’t think I can.

I don’t think we’re supposed to.

Eureka! I’ve Discovered … Change

Angi, the kids and I took a day trip up to our favorite in-state destination Friday: Eureka Springs.

It’s a charming little village stair-stepped up the sides of Ozark mountains in the northwest corner of Arkansas. About fifty natural springs dot the town. Flowers bloom in gardens all over. Streets are curved and steep. There’s not a stoplight in the whole town. There is a Passion Play there that attracts the God-and-America crowd by the thousands each summer. There are more preserved Victorian houses and buildings there than any other place in the mid-South, second only to New Orleans. Motorcycle riders, UFO enthusiasts, hot rod restorers, writers, artists, gourmet cooks, classic car collectors, gay/lesbian groups and all sorts of other “fringies” call the town home at least once a year to hold their rallies and conferences there. Every one of them is as welcome as can be.

I used to write advertising copy for the place. Can you tell?

Angi and I became engaged on the dinner train there years ago. We rode the tour train with the kids for about the dozenth time on this trip. But it’s not the same place it used to be. Both of the active steam engines have had to be retired, leaving only the diesel. Everything needs a coat of paint. And it’s just not the same place without the late patriarch of the owning family in the cab of the train or tinkering in the train yard.

The economy has been tough on tourism the past few years, which has been tough on Eureka Springs. Favorite places have disappeared over the years: the Little Trains of the Ozarks attraction, The Victorian Sampler restaurant, the Cedarberry Cottage bed-and-breakfast, several unique art galleries, and on this last trip The Eureka Springs Model Railroad Company. Their Web site’s still around, but they aren’t.

But I did get to do something I’ve wanted to do, and never have before – in the twenty-some years I’ve been going up to visit Eureka Springs: I visited the Historic Museum.

Oooooh! Exciting stuff, Keith! I won’t regale you with too many lurid details, any more than I would force Angi or my children to endure my fascination with old stuff. They went to the Fun Spot to race go-karts.

Let it suffice to say that I can easily spend a couple of hours in the museum examining what most people wouldn’t spend 15 minutes and/or five dollars to see. I learned things I’ve always been curious about. The whole town burned to the ground in the late 1800s. Twice. That’s why nearly all of the downtown buildings were rebuilt in brick or stone, and have such longevity. There used to be horse-drawn and then electric trolleys in Eureka. There was daily train service, and at one time it was a resort city second in size only to Little Rock in the territory. Carry Nation lived and died there, spreading the gospel of temperance her last three years with her trademark axe. A couple of guys hand-built a double-decker covered bridge over a canyon between two Indian trails in the summer of 1959 that was designed to house 75 writer and artist booths. It was the start of what made Eureka Springs a writer/artist paradise in years thereafter, and a hippie/biker haven a decade later.

Things change. Others change hands. Still others don’t survive change, and perish. “Men come and go, but the earth abides forever.” In addition to this Bible verse, Eureka reminds me of a verse from an old hymn: “Change and decay in all around I see/O Thou who changest not, abide with me.”

I’ve begun to realize that a good part of the reason I go back to Eureka is to see what has changed … to remember the way things were; to celebrate the things that survive. Like its name implies, the town is a perpetual sense of self-discovery.

Hope springs eternal. So does Eureka.

Call Me Diotrephes

No, I’m not starting a Moby Dick epic.

I just woke up this morning with the name Diotrephes in my head, and I realized that I’m way too much like him.

Remember him? He’s the one that epistle-writing John talks about:

I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will have nothing to do with us. – 3 John 1:9

That’s me. I love to be first.

It’s not that I will have nothing to do with the church; quite the opposite. But I do love to be first. I like being recognized for nice things I do, especially at church. I like being complimented and encouraged. I like attention.

(My late uncle Gene Ellmore was known, on at least one occasion, to help someone in charge who was having difficulty quieting a rowdy meeting room by standing up and proclaiming loudly: “Attention! Attention!” When Uncle Gene’s big, booming voice died away, you could hear a pin drop and all eyes were on him. He’d grin, shrug, and say: “I just love attention,” and he’d sit down.)

Being first, being right, and getting all the attention flies in the face of that time-honored “J.O.Y.” principle they used to teach us in Sunday School.

I need a better name. Maybe “Ellmore,” for my uncle … or something like it. Maybe “Elwood.” Like Elwood P. Dowd, who loved his family enough to be willing to give up his dear friend Harvey, the 6-foot white pooka. Or Elwood Blues, who with his brother Jake risked any threat to himself – because they were on a mission from God. Yeah. “Elwood.”

Call me Elwood.

The Question Is Out Of Our Hands Now

I was somehow both saddened and relieved to receive an e-mail flash a few minutes ago bearing the news that Terri Schiavo has died. But I think this development is far from making the issue moot. I just hope it doesn’t serve to further polarize our country politically on issues which very nearly transcend human wisdom.

Perhaps it’s more important right now to pray for the family and the people who are most grieved … and to remember, too, all of the other less-publicized tragedies that play out every day, breaking hearts and offering the opportunity for those broken to seek the face of God – whether in grief, anger, thanksgiving, supplication, acquiesence, or some potent combination of them.