Tag Archive for community

Pride

7 November, 2012 church, justice No comments

[Part 2 of a blog adaptation of the October 28 message at The District Church: "Jubilee."]

After Acts 4–after the heady hope of the Jubilee community, after the generosity and selfless sacrifice of Barnabas–we move into chapter 5, and we run face-first into reality. Ananias and his wife Sapphira sell a piece of property, keep some of the proceeds and bring the rest to the apostles, while pretending to bring all of the proceeds from the sale. They are found out, and as a result, they both “fell down and died.”

It’s a troubling episode for many of us–it seems awfully harsh! But Luke doesn’t just explain it away; he doesn’t paper over the sin in the community, nor over things that freak out the early church community (and us!). It’s really important that we see things like this, that we’re reminded that God isn’t just a kindly old man, God is not your buddy or your pal. God calls us his friends, God invites us into his family, God is our Father; but it would be folly to forget that he is still God.

Take electricity for example. It’s a potent thing: it can run your laptop, charge your phone, power the cell towers that allow you to stay connected with people; it runs cars and buses and trams and trains; it brings light and heat to our homes and cities; it allows us to store and cook food, to wash dishes and clothes; it enables us to watch or listen to or play with all kinds of entertainment. But if you’ve ever experienced electric shock, you know it’s not a pleasant experience—it makes sense to me now why my childhood nanny freaked out when I tried cutting through a power cable with a pair of scissors. And if you’ve ever seen the power of a lightning strike up close, you know that it’s not to be trifled with and that if you do, you’re going to get hurt. Did you know that the temperature of the air around a lightning bolt is over 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit, six times hotter than the surface of the Sun? You don’t mess around with that stuff!

One of my favorite lines from C.S. Lewis’s story, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, is when the children are told that the great Aslan, whom they’re about to meet, is actually not a man, but a lion; and so they’re naturally a little nervous about meeting him.

Lucy: “Then he isn’t safe?”

Mr. Beaver: “‘Course he isn’t safe … but he’s good. He’s the King I tell you.”

I love that. But there’s a difference between the power of electricity and the power of God: the power of God is personal, and the God who wields this power is good and you can trust him.

So we should always remember—we need to always remember—that God is not to be treated casually. God is not just someone we can make in our own image—no, we are made in his: God, the Holy One, the Creator of the heavens and the earth, so glorious that when Moses asked to see his glory, in Exodus, he says, “You cannot, for no one can see me and live.” He wasn’t saying, “I could show you but then I’d have to kill you,” but rather, “There is such a gulf between you and me that you wouldn’t be able to handle the fullness of my glory.” Think about that! This is the God that Ananias and Sapphira were treating so lightly; they had forgotten what it was all about, who it was all about.

Which brings us to what I think is the root of the problem here in Acts 5 and what I think is one of the most potent poisons known to the people of God–to the Jubilee community: pride, that which C.S. Lewis called “the great sin.” In Mere Christianity, he wrote:

Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next man. … For Pride is spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense.

Just as Kryptonite is lethal to Superman, pride is lethal to the Jubilee community.

  • Pride eats up the very possibility of contentment: Ananias and Sapphira weren’t happy to just give a certain amount of money.
  • Pride gets no pleasure out of having something, only out of having more of it than the next person: they weren’t just giving because they wanted to bless the community; they were giving because they wanted to be recognized for giving—and they wanted to get the recognition without having to make the sacrifice. There’s a reason Luke juxtaposes their story with that of Barnabas; they wanted to be like Barnabas—”Barnabas” was sort of a nickname given to this man Joseph by the apostles, probably because of what he was like: an encourager, a friend, a supporter. Ananias and Sapphira wanted that.
  • Pride eats up the very possibility of common sense: their pride led them to come up with this plan; their pride led them to stick to it, even when they had the opportunity to come clean. Their pride led them to think that they could fool God.

The point of this story isn’t that God wants you to keep your finances in order—though he does; the point of this story isn’t that you shouldn’t give money to the church—you should; the point of this story is that God is holy and God hates hypocrisy—that child of pride. John Ortberg writes,

According to Jesus, hypocrisy is not just the failure to live up to what we aspire to. Everybody does that. The core of hypocrisy is deception—mean-spirited and selfish, although sometimes even unconscious, deception. (Who is This Man?, 122)

We can think of any number of scenarios involving hypocrisy: the politician who rails against corruption and who herself is caught in a bribery scandal; or the priest who speaks of a God who loves children while himself abusing them; or the pastor who preaches about the sacredness of marriage and is discovered having an affair.

I often read these stories, particularly about the ones that happen within the church, and at first, I react in the same way as when I read the story of Ananias and Sapphira, with righteous indignation, with incredulity, with a pitying shaking of the head.

And then the Spirit of God sort of taps me on the shoulder and reminds me to take the plank out of my own eye, reminds me that I have a tremendous capacity for self-deception, convicts me for the sin of pride, for looking down on others when only God has the right to judge. And it is when I humble myself—for humility is the opposite of, indeed the antidote for, pride—that God gives me compassion when I look at others and grace when I look at myself.

And that is when we truly embody this Jubilee community. We live out this Jubilee community:

  • when we work toward right and restored relationships with the God who has forgiven our sins and with those around us, even if—perhaps especially if—they have done nothing to deserve it;
  • when we love others with the love of the Christ who died on the cross because of love;
  • when we forgive those who have wronged us as God forgives us;
  • when we give generously and sacrificially, when we meet the needs of our church body and the needs of our neighbors—both friend and enemy;
  • when we proclaim the resurrection of Jesus Christ and what this good news means for all people; and
  • when we humble ourselves, asking God to forgive us for our sins and to make us better, and allowing the Spirit of God to perform surgery—however painful—on our souls to remove the spiritual cancer of pride..

My parents actually gave me the middle name, “Barnabas.” And I want to be like him: I want to be uncomfortably, sacrificially generous; I want to be part of this Jubilee community; I want to be so in love with God and such a part of the body of Christ that I make decisions that might not make sense to the rest of the world.

But I acknowledge that often I make decisions with ulterior motives—in fact, nothing I do is ever completely pure. Did I serve on this occasion because I love serving or because I love the recognition that comes with serving? Probably both. If no one knew that I had served, would I still do it? Probably, but maybe a little more grudgingly. I acknowledge that my so-called ‘sacrifices’ are nowhere near as costly or as heartfelt as the sacrifice of my Lord deserves. I know my life will not always match up to what it’s supposed to be, and sometimes it won’t even be facing the right direction.

But in those moments, when I am brought down low, the same God whose might is imposing and even frightening, lifts me up with his strength. The same God whose holiness shows up every defect and flaw and blemish in me burns away those very defects and flaws and blemishes with that same holiness. The same God whose presence is overwhelming fills me with this same presence and reminds me that it is the Spirit of Christ living in me—and not my own strength—that will accomplish all things. The same God who convicts me of my sin also reminds me that if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive our sins and will purify us from all unrighteousness.

Pride takes all sorts of different forms, and I’m pretty sure that we all struggle with this sin in some way:

  • Maybe it’s being judgmental, concerning yourself more with where others are going wrong than with where you need correction.
  • Maybe it’s lacking patience, as if everyone should work to your schedule and your timetable.
  • Maybe it’s not thinking about others enough, riding roughshod over other people’s feelings.
  • Maybe it’s self-centeredness, not even being aware of how you’re hurting people.
  • Maybe it’s refusing to ask for help, because to ask for help would be to show weakness and you don’t want to appear weak.
  • Maybe it’s selfishness, not wanting to share with others the material blessings you’ve been given because you think they belong to you, or not helping those in need because you’ve forgotten that they belong to God.

Ask God to show you what it is. Ask God to forgive you. Ask God to heal you and make you new.

Maybe it’s fear or uncertainty or anxiety or your past—something that is causing you to hold on or hold back or hold out, something that is keeping you from giving your time or your money or your relationships or your life to God. You’re not sure if you can trust him; you’re not sure if you can trust other people; you’re just not sure who to trust.

I want to encourage you to trust in Jesus Christ: he isn’t safe, but he is good.

It’s been an emotional week

28 October, 2012 church, personal No comments

Whew.

Last night I got back from Minnesota where I got to see my friends Chris and Ashley get married at the coldest wedding I’ve ever attended (let alone, played and sung at). It was a beautiful setting, a wonderful (and definitely memorable!) ceremony, and a fun reception, too. Also had a little Fuller reunion with my friend Julia, who was also at the wedding.

Upon getting back to DC, I found out that Donna, a friend and neighbor who’d been a part of The District Church community pretty much from the beginning, had passed away this last week from the cancer that she’d been diagnosed with in August, when it was already late-stage. Donna had a tremendous story of redemption and she wasn’t afraid to share it–in fact, she was the first person from our church community to be baptized; and at our Sunday gatherings, she was a one-woman amen corner. She’ll be dearly, dearly missed.

This morning, I preached from Acts 4-5 about Jubilee and about the sin of Ananias and Sapphira, and I shared about a friend who’d told me this week that she was moving on from our community. This was a pretty difficult thing to hear, but as I’d been praying about it this week, God reminded me that … well, neither I nor our community is perfect. Still working through it, though.

Then, in between the two services, I got a text from my friends Isaac and Jess, who’d also been part of The District Church for a while before moving back to Minnesota (and I’d gotten to see them during my brief stop in the Land of 10,000 Lakes), that Jess, who was pregnant with their first kid and due tomorrow, had given birth to a beautiful little girl!

And to cap it off, this afternoon, as I was doing some work at home, I found out that another friend’s dad had passed away.

So it’s been an emotional week … heck, it’s been an emotional weekend!

I’d welcome your prayers for me, but even more so for those I’ve mentioned–those that are celebrating as well as those who are mourning.

Thanks, friends.

My Most Important Question

13 August, 2012 church, other people's words No comments

It’s become tradition in our church (at least as much as toddler-aged churches can establish traditions) to have a summer series entitled, “My Most Important Question,” where we have people in our community share about the questions and struggles that they’ve gone through–or are going through.

We don’t believe that you have to leave your doubts at the door in order to be accepted; you don’t have to reach a certain level of accomplishment or certainty to find a place with us; just as Jesus welcomes all, regardless of where they might be on their journey, so we welcome all, too.

I’m always encouraged to hear people’s stories–it reminds me that our God is a great big God and he works in amazing and mysterious ways.

Last week:

Yesterday:

 

Angela asks, “Where’s my joint?”

Who’s in?

2 August, 2012 church No comments

[Adapted and abridged from Sunday's message at The District Church: "Who's In?" Click to listen to the podcast.]

COMMUNITY

Galatians 6:2 says, “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Bear one another’s burdens—whether it’s a burden of temptation, of sin; or a burden of a difficult situation, a health problem, a loved one’s health problem. Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ—that is, love one another.

But bearing one another’s burdens is easier said than done, isn’t it? I like to be the one helping but I don’t like to be the one being helped. We hate having to ask for help. We think it’s a sign of weakness, that it means we haven’t got things together. Or maybe we’d rather not impose on others—but really, that’s an excuse for keeping things in our control (at least, we may think they’re in our control!). We’d rather not be vulnerable; we’d rather not let people in; we’d rather manage on our own, but thanks for asking. America’s rugged individualism and sin’s inclination to isolate are in our bloodstream.

But one of the keys to healing, to restoration, to healthy living, is this: utterly honest relationships of humiliating vulnerability. Twelve-step groups know this truth even better than many churches do. And so Paul says, “Bear one another’s burdens.” That means not only being the helper but being the one who needs help. It means not only helping to restore someone with gentleness but being honest about your own problems and struggles so that others can help restore you.

Community is one of the core values of our church, and we celebrate it. Welcoming those who are alone, including those who are isolated, reaching out to those who have been ignored—these actions are all close to my heart, and so I’m always excited and encouraged when people come to a Sunday gathering or get involved with a small group or come to an event and they comment on how welcoming we are.

L to R: Sheldon, Rachel, Heather, Amy, LaToya, and myself.

But community—if it is true—is also hard.

When I first moved to DC, I lived in intentional community with five other interns—we all worked at Sojourners, and we all lived in a house together. We did chores together, had a shared food budget and shopped for food together, cooked together, ate at least five meals a week together, and spent a lot of intentional time together. Now this is a group of people that I didn’t choose, each of whom is different from me. All of us had different interests and hobbies and passions and callings: photography, baking, soccer, running, art, deep conversations. All of us had different dietary preferences and requirements: beans and rice, no dairy, no soy, no meat, only meat. And all of us had a different way of looking at things, of dealing with problems, of communicating or not communicating, of expressing or not expressing frustration. Doing life together that year, spending almost every waking moment in each other’s company taught me what it meant to really love my neighbor, because even if we get to choose who we do life with—those are our closest friends—even then, if those relationships are to be healthy, there has to be honesty and vulnerability, trust and honor, encouragement and accountability, flexibility and graciousness.

Jesus’ twelve disciples are an interesting mix. You have Simon the Zealous, known for his fervor, his earnestness, his commitment to ethnic and religious purity; and you have Matthew the tax collector, a Jew who was working for the Romans to extort money from his own people—tax collectors and sinners were equated with one another all the time! Do you think they got along well from the outset? Do you think that was a walk in the park?

Then you have Peter, brash Peter: the entrepreneur, the activist, the go-getter, the one who walks on water just because Jesus says so, and who leaves his buddies behind to haul in the catch when he sees Jesus on the shore. And you have Thomas, doubting, careful Thomas: the naysayer, the cautious one, the one who keeps his cards close to his chest, who never agrees to do something unless he knows it’s going to be a success. How often do you think those two got on each other’s nerves?

But Jesus called them all, and they learned how to do life together in the presence of God. They came together, rough edges and all, and over time and by the power of the Spirit that came upon them at Pentecost, they were transformed to be more like Christ. And likewise, in 1 Corinthians 12, Paul tells the church, “We are one body. Different parts, different functions, but one body. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.”

As believers, we are all part of the body of Christ, called to bear one another’s burdens, so when someone here gets married or has a kid or gets a promotion or graduates or completes a recovery program, we all celebrate together. And when someone here loses a loved one or falls into temptation—whatever that looks like—or struggles with being single (or being married or being a parent) or gets fired or is unemployed, we all suffer together.

True community is hard; I’m not going to pretend otherwise. It requires time and effort and sacrifice, give and take, forgiveness and reconciliation—that’s what it takes to live well, to live as we were meant to in the realities of a world as it is now, a world that has been blighted by sin but will be fully restored in due time.

SOWING & REAPING

In Galatians 6:7-8, Paul writes:

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit.

Your choices do matter–not as to how much God loves you, not as to how much he desires the best for you, not as to how much grace is available to you; but God has given us freedom, and freedom comes with responsibility. How you choose to live your life matters—whether you choose for yourself, “sowing to your own flesh,” as it says here; or in obedience to God and for the good of others, “sowing to the Spirit.”

Here at The District Church, we often focus on what life with God means in the here-and-now—Christ invites us into a full life now. Forgiveness and restoration are available now. What matters is what happens now. And that’s all true, but part of the reason we emphasize this is because we’re surrounded by a cultural Christianity that does the opposite—that focuses purely on what’ll happen when Jesus comes again, that promises life after death but says nothing about life before death, that treats the here-and-now as something purely to be endured.

But both are a part of the gospel life: both the here-and-now and what is yet to come. We live in the time in-between, between Jesus’s first and second comings, so on the one hand, Jesus has sent his Spirit to enable us to live out our callings in the here-and-now, but on the other hand, the day has not yet come when there is no sorrow or death and there are no tears. And so we pray, “Your kingdom come and your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” even as we long for and work toward the full restoration of creation, even as we fight against the powers of darkness that still hold sway in our world and show themselves in violence and human trafficking and extreme poverty and domestic abuse and racism and sexism.

I say this to remind us that, while there is more to be lived for in the here-and-now than perhaps we’ve been told or than we think, there’s even more to come that we long for. We like to see results that come instantly. We want to see the fruit of our labor or our effort or our sacrifice right now. We’re not very good at delayed gratification, particularly if we may not see it in our lifetime.

Abraham didn’t see his descendants number like the stars before he died. Moses didn’t enter the Promised Land before he died. By the world’s standards, they failed; but in the eternal perspective—from God’s perspective, they were faithful; and that, more than the world’s standards of success, is what matters.

Even if you don’t see the end of extreme poverty in your lifetime, even if you don’t see peace in the Middle East in your lifetime, even if you don’t see the end of violent conflict or human trafficking, even if you never fully reconcile with your parents, even if you end up unable to salvage a friendship or a marriage, even if you never get promoted to that position you thought would be the pinnacle of your life, even if you never get married or have kids …

Let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith. (vv.9-10)

Now I don’t know what this harvest will look like. There’s a lot we don’t know about the world to come, and I think it’s often unhelpful to spend our time in conjecture or fancy. But I do know this: it involves knowing fully and being known fully, loving fully and being loved fully, living fully in the presence of God. And if the joy and the peace and the love and the grace that we experience so fleetingly in this life here—in the midst of struggle and sorrow and temptation and turmoil and loss—if those are as wonderful as they are even here, I can’t wait for what’s to come.

GRACE

Paul closes—as do I—in verse 18, by returning to grace:

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers and sisters. Amen.

This is the gospel of Jesus Christ; this is the good news that the Bible proclaims: that there is grace.  There is grace. There is grace. Man, if only truth could be communicated by repetition alone …

Grace sets us free from a life of nervous anxiety—did I do good enough? What happens now that I’ve messed up? What is wrong with me? And grace sets us free to live into the calling that God has placed on every one of our lives.

Jesus invites all to participate by the power and presence of his Spirit in the full life now and to celebrate an even fuller life in the age to come. Jesus died for all so that all might live. And those who live for him will live differently. This is an invitation to a life that is true: a life that recognizes and acknowledges the awful realities of sin and brokenness, but also recognizes and acknowledges and points to the God who works in the midst of it, who desires relationship, who promises presence and peace. The God who, in the right time, will restore fully, but in the meantime, holds us up, envelopes us, embraces us, and surrounds us with his amazing love.

And so I want us to respond by answering the question that this series poses—not in the way that Paul’s opponents were using it, that is, to ask who was included in God’s grace; but rather in the way that Paul used it, as a challenge and an invitation to the church: “Here is grace. Here is the gospel. Here is God. Here is the Spirit-filled life. Here is freedom—true freedom. Here is life and life to the full! Who’s in?”

Who’s in? I’m in.

With what I know and with what I don’t know, God, I’m in.

With the words I choose to say and not to say, God, I’m in.

With the thoughts I choose to think and not to think, God, I’m in.

With the actions I choose to take and not to take, God, I’m in.

With the time you’ve given me, God, I’m in.

With the education you’ve given me, God, I’m in.

With the resources—financial and otherwise—you’ve given me, God, I’m in.

With the influence you’ve given me, God, I’m in.

With the relationships you’ve blessed me with, God, I’m in.

With the people it’s challenging to be around, God, I’m in.

In choosing to live a life of worship and community and justice, God, I’m in.

In seeking to love you and to love my neighbor, God, I’m in.

In deciding to be humble and vulnerable and honest and gracious, God, I’m in.

With the life I have, God, I’m in.

By the power and presence of your Spirit living in me, God, I’m in.

By the grace—and through the sacrifice—of your Son, Jesus Christ, God, I’m in.

And to share this grace and good news with all I encounter, God, I’m in.

Amen.

A District Church Summer

13 June, 2012 church, personal No comments

[From the latest email update.]

Friends,

The last month has been very full–in a way reminiscent of the early days of the church, when there seemed to be so much happening that we could only hang on to God for dear life as he whisked us along on his grand adventure.

Here’s what’s been happening in the life of our church:

  • I’ve moved into the new church house, and it’s been wonderful to have a centralized space where Aaron and myself and others on staff can come together to work–also, having spent the last six months in a basement, it’s pretty great to have a window that looks out on the world (see right)!
  • We’ve begun to host meetings in the new space, including our last Leadership Community meeting, a small group leaders interest meeting, and a Newcomers Dinner.
  • We’ve been excited to see how God continues to bring people into our community: since January, we’ve averaged at least 11 newcomers every Sunday, and 15 at our triweekly Newcomers Dinners.
  • People are not only coming to our Sunday gatherings, but also choosing to invest and plant themselves and grow in our community, as evidenced by the fact that we had over 30 at our small group leaders interest meeting, including six from my own small group. We anticipate doubling our available small group capacity this fall!
  • We’re in process of taking a survey (well, more like a census) of our church, so we can get a better, data-backed picture of just who we are as The District Church. Once the results are evaluated, I’m sure I’ll have some interesting insights to share!

This is just a snapshot of what’s going on–I wish I could spend time with each of you communicating just how much is happening!

Thanks again for being on this journey with me.

Grace and peace to you,
Justin.

P.S. Pretty big announcement to come in the next email update: get ready!

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