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

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.

Slants and Slopes and Can’ts

I have a daughter who is eight years old and almost nine.

She loves to sing – especially along with Zoe Group music in our car – and loves to say grace at the table.

She says the sweetest prayers at bedtime, even though she no longer asks God’s blessing for each child in her grade at school by name.

She feels that she is too big for piggyback prayers at bedtime now, since her 12-year-old, 104-pound brother is.

I miss those piggyback prayers. They were such a great reminder to me that I carry my children in prayer to the Father, and I bear responsibility for their spiritual formation.

My daughter is getting away from the stock prayer-phrases that she hears in chapel at her school, which is hosted in our church building. She’s starting to really pray now, asking specifically about friends of hers that are sick or having some kind of problem – no matter how small – and she has that unshakeable childlike faith that God will hear her and take care of it.

In fact, her brother’s bedtime prayers are still pretty dependent on those phrases that he and the other boys use in chapel prayers. I have faith he’ll come around and put his own thoughts into his own words. Still ….

My daughter won’t be leading prayers in chapel.

I understand the whys and wherefores and precedents and policies and frets and fears. I’ve been warned all my life about all kinds of slippery slopes, and I have even seen some prove to be treacherous.

But unless something happens soon; unless someone dares to find out whether the slope is slippery – or if it even is a slope or just a magical-house-on-the-hill optical illusion ….

My sweet daughter may not have the experience of being a channel of God’s blessing to others through her prayer – except at home. Like her mother, whose heart is as wide and deep as eternity itself, she may never feel the touch of a grateful hand on her shoulder or hear the encouragement of a brother or sister who was strengthened by her prayer … or the song she led … or the thoughts she shared at the Lord’s table … or her heartfelt interpretation of a scripture she read … or her story about Jesus, as only a girl or a woman can picture Him.

She’ll read in her Bible about a woman in Sychar of Samaria who shared the first gospel message in scripture; about a sick woman who confessed her faith by touching Jesus’ garment; about Joanna and Susanna, who were the first to support His ministry; about Mary of Magdala, who was first to tell the apostles about the risen Lord; about Lydia who was among the first to host a church in the home; about Euodia and Syntyche and Priscilla and Claudia and how many others.

But her name may never be added to a list that anyone else reads; an order of worship or a roster of leaders.

The prospect of it makes me profoundly sad.

I’m convinced that the way things are now can’t be the way things were then.

And that the slant of the way things are built now is the only thing that makes the slope we’re on look normal and flat and safe.

What Do You Not Understand About "Resurrection"?

Pretty much everything.

But that hasn’t stopped me from writing about it. Looking back at my archives, it looks like I’ve become obsessed with it.

Have I?

HeartWorship: Resurrection
HeartWorship: Beautiful Feet
Resurrection and Reality
The Face of Forgiveness
Upon Three Nails

And if I have, is that a bad thing?

Don’t get me wrong; I love my life. I’m not pining away for the life-to-come and neglecting this one. Because I also understand that it’s dangerous to love this life too much:

“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” – John 12:24-25

Nothing Day

Palm Sunday is long gone. Maundy Thursday is over. It’s not Good Friday. It’s not Easter Sunday.

It’s just Nothing Day.

To His followers on this day 1,975 years ago, Jesus was dead and buried in a signet-sealed tomb; His washed and wrapped body surrounded by a hundred pounds of fragrant spices. It was over.

Nothing has made Nothing Day more real to me than a scene from a play called Resurrection by then-student Jonathan Cloud, performed at Harding University many years ago. Since there was a dearth of male actors available, a few friends of the college were recruited from the community, and I was cast as Matthew.

In that scene, the disciples have slunk back to their rented upper room from their fearful scattering, and now mourn His torturous death the day before in relative silence, punctuated by ponderings about things He has said about returning.

Matthew puts his voice to what they’re all thinking, though: “He said He’d come back … but He never did. Now …”

When I spoke the words in dress rehearsal, I burst into tears, suddenly feeling all of the pain and despair and frustration that the disciples must have felt. My friend Keith Sliter, portraying a burly apostle Andrew with the next line, nearly came apart – but waited until the scene was over to pull me aside: “Are you all right? You’ve got to warn me when you’re going to do something like that.”

“I couldn’t,” I said. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I understand.”

The same thing happened at every performance. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t method acting. It was just something that went too deep for words.

Nothing Day.