doldrums, muses & consumerism

I fear that, today, I have nothing particularly profound, witty, or insightful to offer. In fact, it would seem quite the opposite. As I prepared to write, I found myself uninspired, motionless, stuck. That is a most desperate place to be, as anyone who’s been there can attest. To be in the doldrums, devoid of passion, lacking all inspiration and direction, can be very distressing.

 

Yet the momentary stillness prompted me to consider: Who or what is my muse? What is it that stirs me, that drives me forward? Do I pay homage to the Spirit because of who he is, or only for the animation he brings? That is, is God merely a means to an end? Would I, like Job, praise him even if I benefited nothing from it? To some this may seem an immaterial question, but I believe the answer is of enormous consequence.

 

In the West, we are accustomed to a consumerist mentality in which we get something we want out of our exchanges. Not only so, but we shop around, looking for the best deals, the biggest bargains, the hottest sales. We want what we want, and we want it for cheap. It’s capitalism at its finest. And in the realm of economics, it is a beautiful thing. But has this mindset begun to infiltrate our faith? It is no way to approach our relationship with God.

 

More to the point, do we come to God with a wish list? Do we view our worship and devotion as the price we pay to get what we want? If so, we are not the first. This attitude was epidemic in the early church. Paul warned Timothy of those to whom “religion is just a way to get rich” (1 Tim. 6:5, NLT). Likewise, James chastised believers who embraced this sort of consumerist approach: “You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures” (4:3, NRS).

 

I do not want to say that we are intentional in this. Honestly, I don’t think that we come to church with the intention of earning points with God. But subconsciously, in the back of our minds, does this posture influence our thinking?

This is a danger that is especially menacing to the young. For those not yet grounded in the faith, it is only natural to overlay the framework of what they know upon that which is new and unfamiliar. In their fledgling faith, they do not yet realize that money, contrary to what the world has told them, does not hold the answer to life’s problems. Are we who are mature, then, exposing this sham for what it is? Are we helping them to see that chasing it will “plunge them into ruin and destruction” (1 Tim. 6:9, NLT)?

Simply stated, consumer Christianity cannot be reconciled with a Jesus who said:
 

If any of you wants to be my follower, you must put aside your selfish ambition, shoulder your cross daily, and follow me. If you try to keep your life for yourself, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for me, you will find true life. And how do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose or forfeit your own soul in the process? (Luke 9:23-25, NLT)

 

Still, the problem remains: As followers of Jesus, we should not be defined so much by what we are against as by what we are for. A wise pastor once shared that if we invest our time doing the “dos,” we won’t have time to do the “don’ts.” The sentiment was appreciated. What, in this case, is the “do” that we should be doing? We ought to be chasing after God with abandon, not for what he can offer us, but simply because he deserves it. If he so chooses to bless us (which he does), then we accept it with gratitude and humility, but that cannot be our motivation.

So here I am, inspired, in motion, and freed. The Spirit has swept me out of the doldrums. I suppose it simply took an adjustment of perspective…

tuning out the sirens

Within the annals of Greek mythology, there is an intriguing legend that is pertinent to the interplay between culture and the Church today. As the story goes, fabled creatures known as sirens called to sailors passing by their island. Such was the beauty of their song and the allure of their promises that men would jump overboard or reroute their ships in attempts to reach the source of the sound. Held captive, the unwitting victims then wrecked on treacherous rocks and drowned in the tides.

That storyline sounds all-too familiar.

Sirens, whose name literally translates as “binder” or “entwiner,” are, contrary to popular belief, all-too real. Of course, there are no half-bird, half-woman beings like those of lore. But the bewitching song depicted in myth has haunted us since Eden. Paul warned his young protégé, Timothy, to steer clear of it: “Cling tightly to your faith in Christ, and always keep your conscience clear. For some people have deliberately violated their consciences; as a result, their faith has been shipwrecked” (1 Timothy 1:19, emphasis mine).

This world sings to us as sirens. Its tune enchants, seeking to lull us into a stupor of complacency. Lyrical promises of liberty, gratification, and immortality sound golden in our ears, all the while masking a dirge. Do the sirens themselves – the agents of culture and temporality – know the perils of the shallows to which they call? Perhaps not. But we can be certain that the driving force behind them, the composer of their funeral march, knows full well. His murder is of the premeditated sort.

How, then, do we escape and rescue others from this ruinous fate? Living in this world, staying out of earshot is an impossibility. Rather, the solution lies in hearing a different song. Legend has it that Jason and his Argonaut crew passed by the island of sirens and lived to tell the tale. How did they do it? On board was the poet-musician Orpheus, whose song, synchronized as it was with that of the sirens, was so enthralling that it overpowered the mortal lure. Because these men were captivated by another, they did not succumb to the murderous strains.

This strategy, though fictional, bears our use. Like Orpheus, we have a song of surpassing beauty, a refrain of divine origins: The sonnet of God’s love for us. That melody alone can call endangered souls back from the reef of their destruction. It is not enough for us to criticize the present order of things, pointing our fingers while enumerating dangers; the sirens are too compelling and our fallen nature is too complicit. We must instead offer an alternative of such allure that it drowns out the beckoning voices and rouses the eternity God has planted within our hearts. Perhaps the Psalmist best expressed this rapt sentiment: “One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple” (Psalm 27:4).

This, Church, is our call: To silence the sirens with the song of the Kingdom. We must expose the lies for what they are and offer an exchange: community for the streets, freedom for addictions, love for hate, vision for consumerism, purpose for emptiness, beauty for ashes. For when our eyes open wide to the glory of Jesus, the gilding of this world will lose its luster and we will trade all that we may have him.

God and our throwaway society

My wife and I enjoy antiquing. We love exploring back rooms and hidden corners, searching for glimpses of beauty and value, however dust shrouded or dilapidated. The ubiquity of antique shops and the success of television shows like “Antiques Roadshow” and “American Pickers” tell me we’re not unique in that respect. Of course, some hold hopes of finding buried treasure and striking it rich; but, on the whole, I think the motivation runs much deeper. I believe that the human heart has a deep-seated and desperate longing for restoration.

We live in a throwaway society. Products are manufactured under the business model of planned obsolescence. Dumps (or “sanitary landfills” as the euphemism has them) fill up at alarming rates. If it’s broken, why bother with fixing it? There are plenty more available at Walmart. The days of heirlooms, it would seem, have long passed. Yet in the interminable cycle of buy-use-discard, there remains an emptiness within that we never quite manage to satiate. We know something is amiss.

Do we ever pause to ask why God didn’t just start over? Why, after his creation rebelled, didn’t he simply dispose of the problem and begin anew? It certainly would’ve been a much cleaner and less convoluted solution. But something within the heart of God wouldn’t permit that. To be sure, love is a central part of the equation here, but there is more to it. God is a restorer, through and through. He sees beauty where there is none, looking past what is to what could be. For goodness sake, he envisioned in dust the entire human race! God has not forgotten the imago dei waiting beneath our scars and soul-disease to be reclaimed. The light each of us carries is far too precious to abandon; he will go to any length to salvage it. And he did.

Consider as another example the body of Christ. Scripture tells us his ordeal was so horrific that he was marred beyond recognition: “Many were amazed when they saw him – beaten and bloodied, so disfigured one would scarcely know he was a person” (Isaiah 52:14, New Living Translation). Deep gouges, gaping wounds, and blue-black bruises covered what remained of his body. Yet tattered and spent as it was, it was not left to decompose in the tomb, replaced by a new one. The body of Jesus was raised to life and restored. We recognize the resurrection as a picture of our own passage from death to life through Christ, but the symbolism doesn’t end there. It is also an undying reminder that no matter what occurs, no matter what this world does to us, beauty remains. After all, the scars which Jesus continues to bear once secured the salvation of humanity. What the world views as ugly, death-dealing wounds, God recognizes as a new beginning.

Restoration speaks a revolutionary truth: Every moment of our life, every misstep and mistake, every tear and heartache is an invitation into redemption. There is no place we have been and nothing we have done that God cannot redeem: “Every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. God knew what he was doing from the very beginning… Absolutely nothing can get between us and God's love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us (Romans 8:28-29, 39, The Message). This is the truth that we preach and the hope that drives us: His love never fails, never gives up, never runs out on us.

bones: a vision for our generation

As September rapidly approaches, and with it the resumption of our weekly youth meetings, I have been revisiting our vision. Rereading the account found in the 37th chapter of Ezekiel’s prophecies, it occurred to me that, while it isn’t written in the present tense, the story is ours. So I began to put myself in Ezekiel’s shoes: What would be my reaction if I were there, seeing and hearing everything firsthand? The following paraphrase is the result.

God taps me on the shoulder. “Let’s go for a ride,” he says. All of a sudden, everything is a blur, like I’m flying at the speed of light. When everything stops moving, I realize that I’ve been teleported to some godforsaken place. Scratch that; he’s here with me. Crunch. “Watch your step,” God says. I take a step back and nearly fall over when I see it – a human skull I just mashed. Then it hits me: This guy isn’t alone. Everywhere I turn, as far as I can see – bones, bones, and more bones! At this point, I’m freaking out, about to lose my lunch. All I can think is, “Why in heaven’s name would God drop me off in the middle of a mass grave?”

He interrupts my thoughts. “Let’s take a stroll, shall we?” We walk in silence for a while. After the initial shock wears off, I’m starting to go numb. Suddenly, God stops, takes a long hard look at the carnage. Then he breaks the silence: “Do you think that there’s any hope for these bones? Is there anything we can do?”

I roll the question around in my mind for a few moments before answering. “To be honest, I haven’t a clue. But I have a sneaking suspicion you do.”

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. “Time to get to work,” he says. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to have a little chat with these bones, you and I. You’re going to do the talking, telling them exactly what I tell you to say.” He looks at me, gauges my expression to make sure I’m tracking. Satisfied, he continues. “Say this: ‘Listen up, bones – God’s talking! Get a good look because I’m going to fill up your lungs. Meat on those bones, brand new skin, lungs pumping – you’ll have a new lease on life! And there won’t be a doubt in your mind who I am.’”

So I tell them, word for word, everything God told me to say. I haven’t even finished when it starts – softly at first, then growing in intensity. Such a ruckus! The clattering of a million bones fills the air, so loud it hurts my ears. If I wasn’t seeing it, I’m not sure I would believe it. Right before my eyes, those bones snap into place. Then ligaments and organs, muscles and skin, eyes and ears grow at impossible speed. I’m watching death in reverse! But something is wrong; they’re just lying there like corpses, motionless and not breathing.

I look to God for an answer. “Oh, we’re not finished yet!” he says. “Call up the breath of life. Say this: ‘Didn’t you get the memo, breath? God’s talking! Come from every direction and fill up the lungs of these who have fallen in battle.’”

Again, I echo God’s words and again, everything falls in line. A sound like a freight train, a deafening, rushing wind, fills the sky and swoops down into the valley. When all the dust settles, I nearly stop breathing: A million chests rise and fall as one, in sync with some unheard cadence. Their eyes snap open and they rise up – a mighty resurrected army, standing at attention, stretching as far as the eye can see.

I look over to see God grinning from ear to ear. “These are my kids – every single one of them. They lament, ‘We might as well lie down in our caskets because we’re doomed! It’s hopeless! We’re dead men walking! God has turned his back on us.’ But they haven’t a clue! I’ve got something big up my sleeve. So tell them, ‘God’s talking! Your Dad is going to exhume those graves you dug. Get up out of your coffins and start dancing! I’m taking you home, back to the Promised Land. And you’ll have no doubt in your mind who I am when all is said and done. I’ll breathe my Spirit into you – your every breath taking in my presence – and you’ll live with me. I said it, and I will make it happen!’”

This year, may we see this vision fulfilled as God robs the graves of our students, stealing away their death. Together, let us pray for that end.