Journey Inward, Journey Outward

Like many optical illusions, this one took me a while to spot.

I was a college student at NC State, becoming involved and engaged in Baptist Campus Ministry, when I noticed the logo. 

As it turned out, the logo for the Baptist Student Union in the late twentieth century was an optical illusion. In bold strokes, the emblem was comprised of arrows pointing outward. But if you looked closely, you’d see that there was also arrows pointing inward. In fact, the arrows pointing inward helped to establish the arrows pointing outward. Do you see it?

This BSU star represented both the journey inward and the journey outward. In short, our relationship with God through worship, devotion and Bible study (journey inward) helps to establish our call to ministry and mission (journey outward). One cannot exist without the other. And yes, one aspect of the faith is reliant on the other for its energy and definition.

This logo is a good description of our mission and ministry at First Baptist Church.

Over the last few years, our process of listening and praying together to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God has yielded fruit. Recognizing that it was imperative for our church’s health to be outwardly focused, we nurtured the seedlings of what has become our 1st Explorers Ministry. In an attempt to be faithful to God’s call for us, and out of a desire to be leaders on Main Street in our community, we began serving families with a missionary’s zeal.

In case you haven’t heard, this is where we stand to date:

"Last Monday, our 1st Explorers Ministry geared up for the school year! A hymn that came to mind as I prepared for work on Monday morning was, “Jesus Loves the Little Children.’ As I hummed it out of tune and off-key, I was reminded of the many ways our church loves all the little children. For countless years, First Baptist made space for a half-day preschool known as The Play Factory. Hundreds of children and their families have been impacted by this ministry. This year, with a new name and new teachers, Wee Explorers began 'Learning, Sharing and Growing Together' with 12 preschool-age children! For the past three years, our After School Ministry has become an integral part of who we are at First Baptist. This year we have close to 60 children enrolled in our daily, After School Ministry. This past summer we provided a comprehensive day camp to 50 children. Our ministries to children and their families are growing in leaps and bounds, and I’m grateful to be part of a congregation that is making a huge impact on our community and future generations."

-Kelly Brown, 1st Explorers Ministry Director

Our ministry to the families in our community represents our journey outward. By providing quality, affordable childcare for working parents through our preschool experience and After School Ministry, we are doing justice. We are making possible a service ministry that helps to make families stronger. By providing a setting that nurtures friendships and mentoring relationships, we are seeking to love kindness. And also, by teaching our children the stories of our faith every single day of the week--save for Saturday—and exposing our kids to mission education on Wednesday afternoons, we are helping our children to walk humbly with God.

Our Summer Explorers Camp lived out these principles in a more comprehensive and saturated fashion through field trips, water days, mission projects, Bible study and daily chapel worship services. Is it any wonder that children made professions of faith during this time?

Although these services are provided on our campus and in our facilities, our work with children and families in our community is a mission. This is one of our many ways of journeying outward. Brothers and sisters, people around town now describe us openly as, “The church with the children playing out front.”

We cannot, however, forget about our journey inward. Remember, we cannot journey out unless we are also nurturing our connection with Jesus. As a church family, we must remain committed to nurturing our relationship with God—walking humbly with Him—so that we may remain tethered to the One who calls us to be Kingdom People.

The work of the church can feel heavy, even burdensome at times. Life and ministry are far less tidy when we are on mission. Let’s recall that the presence of Jesus made a mess—literally a hole in a ceiling!—because people were clamoring to be near him. When our mission is grounded in the mission of Christ, our spirits are restored and our vision is revived. And our mess—before we clean it up!-- becomes a testimony of God working in our midst.

Of course, our 1st Explorers Ministry is but one aspect of our mission on Main Street. But health begets health, and we are already seeing its positive impact on the other God-directed missions that are surfacing in our congregation to serve those who need assistance.

God is blessing others through us. Indeed. But we have not yet arrived, y’all. There is more to do because the harvest is plentiful. The workers are not few, for we are many! However, we must wed our work with God’s direction for motivation and endurance.

Our journeys into the world, as well as our journeys into the heart of Christ, do not end. Fueled by the Holy Spirit, God’s movement never tires, rests or retires.

Needed: Prayer & Engagement (Not a Time Machine)

“It can’t be too bad. No one from the future has tried to stop me from doing it.”

Lately, I’ve found myself fascinated by fiction where time travel plays a significant role. As you snicker at my bold-face, literary confession, consider that the idea of time travel has been around for some time and has figured into some weighty theories. Some respectable individuals have even suggested that time travel might just be possible. Just ask a fella by the name of Einstein.

(Beat)

Not convincing was it? Well, you can’t say that I didn’t try to bring some respectability to my love of science fiction. I failed miserably. Snicker away.

The premise behind time travel narratives goes something like this:

1.) Something happened in the past that should be studied and learned from.

2.) Something happened in the past that should be changed or altered so that our future history will be better off for it.

3.) Someone either gets stuck in the past or the future, and all kinds of mayhem ensues (thank you, Marty McFly).

In truth, there has been a spike recently in pop culture surrounding the element of time travel, and I find our collective interest in it to be telling. In a world of increased connectivity and awareness of tragedy, corruption and violence, it would seem that we have developed a strange inclination for dealing with human suffering. Apparently, the world’s problems have become so challenging that the only way that 21st century inhabitants can address them is to go back in time to correct or prevent them. Present day strategies to combat the difficulties that we face do not present enough optimism for us to attempt them in the here and now.

Now that’s depressing.

Although the world that we live in may give us evidence to the contrary, we people of faith in Jesus Christ are not powerless to bring about change. While it may be tempting to withdraw and bemoan the downfall of the world, God calls us to engage so that the power of the Holy Spirit will transform and redeem a broken world. As much as we might be inclined to quote fiery prophecies from the Old Testament about the evils of our world, the Gospel compels us to remember Jesus’s words on the matter: “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him (John 3:17).”

God wants to save us. And saving requires intervention, risk-taking and courage.

When we look at God’s action in human history through the person of Jesus, we see a God who was not content with the realities of his creation. God demonstrated the full-expression of his love for us by becoming flesh and dwelling among us. As his ministry details, Jesus did not retreat to a hermit’s dessert cave hoping that we might find him out of a desire for enlightenment. No, God comes to us. God intervenes in our present day. God suffers with us. God weeps with us. God heals us. God redeems us.

As followers of Jesus, we are called to model our lives after the life of the One who came to save us. This means that we dedicate ourselves to the tasks of prayer and engagement.

Jesus teaches us to pray for “God’s will to be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” By asking God to make things right in the here and now of our world, we are making ourselves available to be his instruments for his divine plan.

And when we make ourselves available to be used by God for his purposes, we see how God is calling us to be a people of both faith and action. For just as God is a God of intervention—creating our world, freeing the Hebrew slaves, sending his Son, Jesus, and saving you and I—God is asking us to be Kingdom citizens. Naturalization into the Kingdom of God means that we are a people who live according to God’s rules and realities and not the world’s predilections.

When we do this—when we pray for God’s will to be done, and when we choose to act as God has acted in the world—then hope, justice, healing and redemption will occur in our current day and age.

There’s no need for a time-traveling DeLorean. We can make more change today than we ever could have yesterday.

If They Can't Come to Jesus, Jesus Can Come to Them

Feeling adrift and unsettled? You have no idea.
 
Just consider the story of some stranded Filipino sailors who are currently anchored off the coast of Georgia. According to a story published this week on National Public Radio by Camila Domonoske, the cargo ship—the Newlead Castellano—is swaying without direction on the ocean swells off a Georgia beach, holding its sailors captive.
 
“The cargo ship had been seized by U.S. marshals because its owners had stopped paying on their loans. The ship would be sold to pay off those debts — a process "similar in concept" to a home foreclosure, says attorney Todd Baiad, who represents the lenders.
 
"Because it's a movable object, there's some intricacies involved," he explains. "And, you know, you've got crew members."
 
The crew has been marooned on their ship since April. And they haven’t been allowed to come ashore.
 
For many of us, we can identify with this tale of suspended animation. Although we may have never stepped foot on a cargo ship, we are quite familiar with the sensation of feeling trapped. There’s something both poignant and disturbing about this universal experience of feeling stranded.
 
Maritime stories abound of sea voyages plagued by the doldrums. The doldrums refer to areas of the Pacific and Atlantic oceans where the trade winds become quiet, effectively hijacking the progress of ships that were dependent on capturing the wind to fuel their sails. Sailors would bake on the decks of their ships, praying for a breeze to ripple the glassy sea and inch them closer to their destination.
 
As much as we may loathe the doldrums, trying to avoid them is fruitless. Sometimes, we just get stuck. Progress feels impossible and we find ourselves staring out at the distant horizon, desperate for an agent of change. In these moments, our souls are deflated and we oftentimes feel cut-off from those we love. God seems absent and impotent. We become tired of our own prayers.
 
In the story of the cargo ship, however, the Newlead Castellano’s prayers were eventually answered. The National Maritime Service became responsible for the crew, providing for them sustenance in the form of food and water. The crew asked for something else, though. They wanted a priest to visit them and to provide them the Eucharist, or communion. The attorney that had been assigned to them swiftly contacted his own parish priest, asking him if he had any interest in visiting the stranded sailors.
 
“The pastor, Father Brett Brannen, wound up making the trip offshore not just once, but several times over the course of the summer.
 
"If they can't come to Mass, Mass can come to them," the attorney Todd Baiad says. He says he was there for one of Brannen's visits, and that sharing the Sacrament with the stranded sailors was "a really meaningful spiritual experience."
 
For our Catholic brothers and sisters, Mass includes the experience of communion—of having a direct experience with Jesus Christ.
 
“If they can’t come to Mass, Mass can come to them.”
 
If they can’t come to Jesus, Jesus can come to them.
 
How many times has Christ come to you through the love and compassion of individuals who have ventured beyond the gap to be near you when you’ve been adrift? Personally, I thank God for the grace I have received when I have been found sitting on the deck of a ship stuck on a wide ocean, unsure if it will ever move again.
 
I am deeply moved by Father Brannen’s willingness to take communion to these stranded Fillipino sailors because it strikes at the heart of the Gospel. In the Great Commission, God commands us to go to distant lands to unfamiliar people and to share Jesus’s life, ministry and teachings with them. It is both foolish and disobedient to presume that these far-flung individuals should come to us in order to experience Jesus. The burden is upon us. We are the ones who Jesus is calling to go to others in His name.
 
The church as a lighthouse may not be the best image for us, here. Yes, lighthouses pierce the darkness so that ships can find safe passage to shore. Rather, I prefer the story of the primitive ‘lifesavers’ who were stationed on the Outer Banks during the late 1800s. More than a century ago, these committed individuals kept watch for ships that got shipwrecked on the cape’s trademark shoals. For when they did, they launched a kind of zip-line from the shore to the stranded ship in the hopes of rescuing the sailors and bringing them to safety.
 
It is imperative that we are a church who seeks to share Christ with those outside our fellowship. Just as it was with the lifesavers on the Outer Banks, we must keep watch; ever-prepared and passionate about saving souls in Christ’s Name. We, ourselves, have been rescued countless times. We know how to do it because we’ve experienced it ourselves. It’s now time for us to journey out to others so that they can experience the breath of the Holy Spirit filling their sails.

Lost (and Found) in Translation

Together, we faced one another from across a table. Between us was an iPhone. We pressed a button on the device and took turns speaking in our respective languages. After each statement that we would make, we would pause, press the corresponding button on the device, and wait for the translation.

“Ahhhhh,” one of us would say, grinning. “I understand.”

In this way, Ernesto and I got to know each other this week. It was a remarkably fulfilling experience.

My family and I have been blessed to spend time with Ernesto this week. We have had the chance to share our stories, speak about the realities of our contexts for ministry, and have been able to find places of intersection for our hopes and our dreams. Ernesto and I are brothers in Christ. We are also becoming close friends.

And we may just have technology to thank for that.

This much is true: Ernesto’s command of English is far better than my understanding of Spanish. He is able to comprehend my statements more effectively than I am able to understand his. It will not surprise you to learn that I am the troublesome one in our dialogue. Without the assistance of a translator, our conversation is pleasant but not particularly rich.

Jeff: “I like the rain.”  

Ernesto: “Sí. The rain is very nice.”

Jeff: “Sí.”

Our universal connectivity through technology certainly has its drawbacks, but in this circumstance the translation software on my iPhone has provided many breakthrough moments for our relationship. My device acts as an intermediary which seamlessly allows us to speak long, coherent thoughts to one another.

The word ‘seamless’ may be a bit of an overstatement. There are times when the translation is clearly incorrect. And we laugh. At other times, we may fail to press the ‘start’ button on the application, only to realize later than our profound statement fell on deaf (or at least uncomprehending) ears. We laugh some more.

One benefit of the software is that it dictates on the screen what will be translated. In other words, the device listens to my statement and presents it on the screen for both Ernesto and I to see. Only a moment passes before the device translates my statement into Spanish. The computer then speaks the translation aloud. The upshot of this feature is that it helps me to see in advance if the device heard me correctly before it translates my words into Spanish. For, of course, if the words that appear on the screen are not a good representation of what I actually said, the translation will be meaningless—or even dangerous.

After one such translation bobble, I remarked, “This is how World Wars get started.”

We laughed together.

Because of this technological tool, we have been able to dialogue about more than just the pretty mountains or the weather. Ernesto and I have been able to speak passionately about our love for our churches and our concern for our communities. Since we’ve been able to have an intermediary, we’ve been able to talk about strategies to deepen our relationship and to grow our friendship. Neither of us want an imbalanced relationship. Both Ernesto and I want a relationship of equanimity to develop between our churches, for friendship is defined by reciprocity—not dependency, or empiricism. It is important to both of us that we treat one another as equals: supporting one another, loving one another, working together for good in our respective contexts. To that end, we believe that our next step should involve sharing our particular needs, and then working to identify projects that we can work on together.

But as we are discovering this week, huddled around an iPhone at a table, none of that can happen without a strong friendship in Christ.
 

As brothers in Christ through our sister-churches, we know that it is the presence of Jesus that truly connects us to one another. Jesus is our ultimate intermediary. Christ bridges the gap between us and God. And, of course, Christ bridges the gap between you and me. In a world with such violence surrounding our differences, the love of God in Jesus has never been more critical to our future.

On Sunday, Ernesto and I will be leading in worship together. With the help of a (human!) translator, Ernesto will lead from our pulpit. And together, Ernesto and I will speak the Words of Institution together as we gather around the table of the Lord for communion.

It will be a striking scene, similar to the one Ernesto and I experienced this past week. We will face one another from across the table, ready to listen, to partner, and to love. But this time, it will be Christ who is at the center--between us, connecting us together for service, now and tomorrow.

Misplaced Passion

On Sunday afternoon, some of our church family made the trek to historic McCormack Field in Asheville to watch the Tourists take on the Greenville Drive. It was a hot afternoon, and one of the teams we watched was hot at the plate.

 Spoiler alert: It wasn’t the Tourists.

 “So we’ll root, root, root for the home team—if they don’t win it’s a shame.”

 Yes it was, and yes it is. Losing is a shame.

Losing haunts me. I would be a bold-face liar if I told you otherwise. The teams I have supported have frequently let me down. The teams I have played on have failed in grand fashion (My one moment of glory on the intramural football field occurred when I caught a touchdown pass down the sidelines, only to find that I was without my sweatpants when I reached the end zone). The teams I have coached haven’t fared much better.

 Now, I am most committed to the teams with which I am affiliated. I suppose that it could be said that I have a high tolerance for losing since I stick with lackluster teams. I tend to be loyal to a fault. I am convinced that my NC State Wolfpack should alter their fight song to include the lines from Emily Dickinson’s famous poem: “Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed.” That way, when opponents see us celebrating with inordinate amounts of enthusiasm, they will know the origins of our joy.

How do you respond to loss?

Perhaps you’re a fighter and you dig deeper when you experience loss. Maybe you’ve arranged your life in such a way that you are insulated from losing. Or, could it be that failure and loss have chased you into the shadows, convincing you that you will lose again if you try? Loss, I believe, is the best catalyst for revealing one’s true character. (Egad…)

In his book, My Losing Season, the late Pat Conroy suggests that times of disappointment and failure can be exceedingly valuable. Losing can be formative – even redemptive – if we allow it to be so. Ah, but there’s the rub. When we lose, when we are disappointed, when we feel like we have failed, it is tempting to think of ourselves as failures and, by default, incapable of any success with future goals. And when this happens, we surrender.

Of course, there are many ways that we experience loss and it is flatly offensive to equate losses on the baseball diamond--or even at the ballot box—with the loss of life, limb or spirit.

In a telling Biblical observation, it should be noted that God’s narrative in scripture has little commentary on entertainment. Unlike our own cultural obsession with the entertainment industry, the story of Israel and the Gospel of Jesus Christ talk about losses with much greater gravity than playoff runs, rivalry games, or even presidential primaries. I think we’ve thus arrived at our point: Maybe we’re too passionate about the wrong things.  

Another way to frame this conversation may be to differentiate between life's disappointments and the experience we have with loss and grief. Perspective can be helpful, here. Our disappointments when things don’t go as we wish are not insignificant—but they should also never be conflated emotionally with the kind of grief people from around the world face each day.   

Let’s recall that Jesus can teach us something about disappointment and loss:

1.) Jesus didn’t expect everything to go as he planned. God’s Son didn’t seem shocked when things didn’t go as he might have wanted.

2.) Jesus didn’t allow his disappointment with people to influence his response to them. People disappointed Jesus frequently, yet he still chose to trust and to love them.

3.) Jesus was able to see the grief that others were experiencing and rushed to be present with them. Let’s recall that other people’s mourning changed Jesus’s plans.

4.) Jesus, himself, experienced grief when he lost his good friend Lazarus to death.

5.) God, Himself, experienced loss when He lost his Son, Jesus, to death.

Jim Valvano was on the backside of a season of loss when he anticipated his own death to cancer. Speaking with the authority of a circuit-riding evangelist, he urged his listeners at Reynolds Coliseum in 1993 to never, ever, give up. It would seem that his message was divinely inspired, as God models for us a redemptive response to disappointment and loss.

You see, God hates loss just as we do. That’s why he redeemed Christ’s ultimate loss by resurrecting him from death to newness of life.

Some perspective might do us some good. A resilient spirit with an uplifted chin wouldn’t hurt, either.

For that matter – and since we’re asking for things – neither would a come-from-behind 6-run inning by the Braves for the win.  

Making Room for the Devil - Jeff Mathis

When I was a child, I was fascinated by the TV show, ‘The Incredible Hulk.’ You may recall that in that 1970's TV series, the protagonist was a man who had been plagued by a science experiment gone wrong. As a result, whenever Dr. David Banner got angry, his eyes would dilate. His skin would turn a menacing shade of green. His bulging biceps would then rip his shirt to shreds, and a horrible monster would be unleashed. The narrator says it well: “The monster within Dr. Banner was driven by rage.”
 
“You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” he would say to those who would tempt his temper.
 
This classic Jekyll and Hyde story is both compelling and revealing. For in truth, we all have a monster that lives within us. It is revealed when we are stressed, anxious, furious or enraged. When this monstrous side of us is revealed, it can do incalculable damage to those we love the most. We become reptilian--reacting instead of responding--striking out at others with little thought to the consequences. We are our worst selves when our anger controls our thoughts and our actions.
 
Dr. Banner is correct. We are neither likeable, nor lovable when we are fueled by rage.
 
Anger is not the enemy, just as none of our emotions are innately bad. Our emotional response to the world just is. We become co-opted by our emotions, however, when we begin to identify with our feelings. We may feel anger, or disappointment or disgust, but we are not the embodiment of those emotions. It is a far better response to temper our inner voice and report that we “feel angry,” rather than state that we “are angry.” We are not our emotions. Our emotions do not make up our identities.
 
Or at least they shouldn’t. For when we become our feelings, we feed the monster that is eager to run free.
 
Paul gives us good counsel on the issue of anger and rage. In his letter to the church in Ephesus, he tells us, “Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil.” (Ephesians 4:26-27).
 
Feeling anger is not a sin. And that’s a good thing, because there is much to feel angry about. The catch, Paul tells us, is to not sin in our anger.
 
Anger is a powerful emotion. It can drive us to do good. But it can also be used as a toxin, blinding us to one another and making enemies where we should be neighbors. Anger, as we know, can be manipulated…it can be fueled. People can use us by stoking our anger and directing our inner monsters to hurt others. It is imperative that we guard against this impulse so that we do not allow our righteous anger to prompt a sinful reaction.
 
So feel anger. Absolutely. Allow the anger that you feel to wash over you. But then let it leave you, as well. Holding your anger inside is just as detrimental to you as it is to unleash it upon others. Find a way to allow your anger to escape. And do so quickly, Paul intones. “Do not let the sun go down on your anger.”
 
There is a wry comedy in the ways people channel their anger. My father used to go out after work and split wood. The longer he was out there at the wood pile, the angrier—we assumed—he felt. Apparently, I get angry at inanimate objects (or so my family reports). I let the offending device, hammer or tree stump know that I am angry, and for the most part, that verbal release enables me to move on.

How do you release your anger?
 
I pray that you do. Because, if you do not find a healthy way to release the anger that builds up inside you, you are “making room for the devil.” Be suspicious of the anger that lurks in your heart after the sun goes down. That anger is not working for good. That monster, that devil, is crafting a strategy to work for evil.
 
How can I be so sure? Just turn on the evening news.

Singing Ourselves Strong - Jeff Mathis

For as long as I can recall, music has always accompanied my faith.
 
I must have been around five years old at the time. It was Sunday night worship and we met in our church’s chapel. I was thrilled at what was unfolding—we were going to have a hymn-sing! Little did I know then that the pastor simply wanted a night off. And praise God for that! Our evening was filled with music. Those in our attendance could request the next hymn and we would all lift our voices in worship through song. At one point, I was able to corral our music minister’s attention and I requested a more modern hymn: “Pass It On.”
 
“I’ll shout it from a mountain-top!,” the chorus rang out. “I want my world to know the Lord of love has come to me, I want to pass it on.”
 
I don’t have a clear memory of any other Sunday evening worship service from my childhood. But I remember this moment because the entire service was filled with congregational singing.
 
With the exception of the National Anthem, or ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,’ we rarely sing together in public. Outside of church, people do not sing together as we once did. And that’s a shame. Music, and singing in particular, is such a communal activity. When we sing together, we feel a part of something bigger than ourselves. We can make harmony, together. We can get lost in a melody. We can digest rich words of meaning as we sing them. There is power in our shared voices.
 
Church, then, becomes one of the last few places that we can sing together. Congregational singing is a transcendent experience and is one that we must preserve. Unlike concerts, where the function of the event is to receive the music by listening to the artist, congregational singing places the emphasis on our corporate offering. This shared experience has a name. We call it church.
 
This Sunday in worship, we will celebrate how music makes us stronger. We will sing our praises to God, hear testimonies about how hymns have touched our lives, and will marvel at the way God is present in our singing. Indeed, God roots us together in Christ by weaving His song into our own.
 
One of my favorite hymns is, “For All the Saints.”
 
Although I had grown up with this song, it took on a new meaning for me during my first week at Princeton Seminary. The seminary’s chapel, nearly 200 years old at the time, had extraordinary acoustics. The high ceilings, the marble floors and the uber-powerful pipe organ all worked to reveal God’s glory in music.
 
It was the downbeat that got me.
 
I wasn’t expecting it and I certainly wasn’t expecting the power that accompanied it. The note, cloaked in power from the depths of the musical scale, cleared the way for what was to come. The chapel shook. The pew in front of me rattled. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I gasped. What kind of majesty was this?
 
Triumphant, glorious, evocative, 200 seminarians sung as loud as their voices would carry them, and the familiar tune marched us through the 19th century lyrics of encouragement and consolation.
 
“Thou wast their Rock, their fortress and their Might; Thou Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight; Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true light. Alleluia! Alleluia!”
 
Today, this hymn seems perfectly crafted for funerals and memorial services. No, it is not a mournful song. No, it does not soothe a heart wounded by tragedy. Instead, this hymn rouses us to lift our heads to heaven. It is a toast (!) to those who have gone before us into life eternal. The song is a victory march that functions as a confession of our faith in Jesus Christ.
 
"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph song, and hearts are brave again, and arms are strong. Alleluia! Alleluia!”
 
When we choose to lift our voices together in worship, we are privileged to sing ourselves strong. This Sunday, First Baptist Church, we will do just that.

Not Feeling It - Jeff Mathis

em·pa·thy
/ˈempəTHē/
noun
the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
 
If you blink, you’ll miss it. Jesus was angry.
 
In the Gospel according to Mark (1:40-42), the author tells this familiar story: “A leper came to [Jesus] begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean.”
 
The phrase, “Moved with pity,” comes from translators who grappled with the Greek word, orgistheis. Although they get the essence of orgistheis correct, their translation lacks the punch and power of the original Greek. The Koine Greek word orgistheis literally means, “to be angry.”
 
Jesus was mad at the leper’s condition and he allowed himself to be moved to action. So he touched the man and made him clean. Jesus had empathy for the man with a horrendous disease and healed him.
 
“If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose.”
 
How about us? When we come in contact with people who are hurting, do we choose to help? Perhaps, if we don't feel concern for others, it gets us off the hook to help them. 
 
Some have argued persuasively that empathy is not a choice, but is rather like a gift—you either have empathy or you don’t. I’ve even heard people report that they’re not good at empathy—as though empathy is like shooting free throws from the charity stripe.
 
The implications are significant. If empathy is an attribute that people have or don’t have, then it gives humanity an out when we come face to face with people who are hurting. 
 
“Sheriff, I didn’t help her because I didn’t feel pity for her.”
 
Are we to be okay with these kinds of statements? Is our lack of emotional concern a good reason to not help others in need? In a compelling argument entitled, “Empathy Is Actually a Choice,” published in the New York Times on July 10, 2015, the authors (Daryl Cameron, Michael Inzlicht and William A. Cunningham) state authoritatively that it is not.  
 
Make no mistake, empathy fails us. We are moved by some tragedies, and unmoved by others. We’re not just parsing words, here. There is something at stake. For you see, when we feel empathy we are typically moved to help. When we don’t feel empathy, we don’t do anything.
 
“Not only does empathy seem to fail when it is needed most, but it also appears to play favorites. Recent studies have shown that our empathy is dampened or constrained when it comes to people of different races, nationalities or creeds. These results suggest that empathy is a limited resource, like a fossil fuel, which we cannot extend indefinitely or to everyone.” (Daryl Cameron, Michael Inzlicht and William A. Cunningham)
 
But empathy is not a limited resource. We have a choice between caring and not caring. This is a moral issue. “The ‘limits’ to our empathy are merely apparent, and can change, sometimes drastically, depending on what we want to feel.” (Daryl Cameron, Michael Inzlicht and William A. Cunningham)
 
The key phrase there is, “what we want to feel.”
 
People of faith have language ready-made to describe this. When an individual chooses to not care about the pain of others, the Bible tells us that their “heart is hardened.”
 
Empathy is not a gift, it’s a discipline. It is a choice. Like many other disciplines, empathy has its challenges and needs to be practiced to be mastered. Empathy requires time to listen to others. Empathy requires emotional space that is pliable. Empathy demands a willingness to hurt—or be angry!-- on behalf of others.
 
Empathy can be thwarted by our biases and our laziness. Our lack of emotional response can be sabotaged by our self-righteousness and secret desire to condemn others for their mistakes and failings.
 
A hardened heart is not easily moved. The Bible is clear on this point and one other: It never ends well for that individual (just ask a fella by the name of Pharaoh).
 
Let’s covenant with one another to do some homework this week. Let’s choose to become more aware of the individuals who do and do not receive our concern and empathy. And then, in that moment, let’s ask the reflective question: Why is that so?
 
This exercise will require courage to see what’s going on beneath our surface. True, some of us may not feel up to it. Just the same, we might just be convicted by our findings.
 
And yet, the witness of Jesus’s life and ministry here is deeply compelling. Jesus chooses to help. God commands us to love and to care for our neighbors. And God doesn’t care one ounce if we're not 'feeling it.' 

In the Weeds - Jeff Mathis

One of my duties at our house is to destroy the weeds that stand embarrassingly high on our property. I cannot say it strongly enough. I hate this chore.

Even my rueful confession causes me grief and shame, for I know that I should relish the opportunity to make our mountain home look less jungle-like. It’s not that I don’t like for our home to look tidy. On the contrary. I want our home to look prim and proper, and yet I feel at war with the insidious creeping thistle. By this time of the year, however, I am nearing the point of surrender in a battle that I cannot win.

You see, the weeds just keep coming. It is a vicious cycle. I mow the weeds down. They sprout up while I sleep. I dress like a bee keeper to protect myself from poison ivy and assault them with my weed eater. It is a violent practice, with the remnants splattering my sunglasses and being flung hither and yon. Even so, the mulched weeds scatter their seeds to fresh soil and new opportunities just to irritate me. Yes, I’ve tried poison. But even poison conspires to haunt the view from my porch, as the cadavers of weedy plants stand as brown sentinels in an otherwise field of green.

I cannot win. A killing frost is my only friend.

Here’s the truth of the matter: Weeds are a part of life. Just as weeds are aptly named with monikers like pigweed or thecommon ragwort, and the spotted knapweed, the weeds in our lives have names as well. Although not necessarily associated with tragedies and other calamities, the weeds in our lives are the irritations, frustrations and confounding circumstances that crop up with alarming regularity.

In life, we are often sidetracked by these irritations because we give them too much of our time and energy. The weeds that seem to capture too much of our attention may be that passive aggressive co-worker, or that tone-deaf comment on your prized Facebook post. In a day filled with bright sunshine and pleasant afternoon showers, we focus instead on that maddening idiosyncrasy of a mother-in-law or next door neighbor. We are irked by these weeds and want to eliminate them from our points of view.

The weeds in my life include technology that conspires to defeat me, individuals who are not reflective, and every Major League Baseball team that beats my Braves (that would be all of them).

I agree with you. These are small things in a world with immense challenges and problems. But that’s my point. You and I both know that we often give these weeds far too much sunshine. By focusing so much of our precious attention on these small (but admittedly significant) concerns, it siphons off energy from more significant things.

Let’s face it. We cannot always summon a killing frost. Perhaps there is another way to make peace with the weeds that creep up onto our paths.

It has been said that the best way to respond to these irritating, organic anathemas is to not go after them at all. Instead, it may be a better use of our time and energy to grow healthy grass. A healthy lawn is the anecdote for weedy invaders.

When we focus on walking humbly with God, our lawns—so to speak—become lush and green. We can walk barefoot with God because we have developed healthy disciplines of reading scripture, praying as Jesus taught us and practicing acts of selflessness and kindness. Worship with the Body of Christ, as well as personal times of devotion teach us how to manage our lives in good times and in bad. These Christ-centered practices create a healthy ecosystem where the occasional dandelion or deer tongue weed cannot take root.

Well, at least not for long.

Oh, and one more thing. Watch your step. We haven’t even begun to address what might be hiding in those high weeds.

Devil Hot - Jeff Mathis

Many of you know that I spent my first year out of seminary living in the desert southwest.
 
Tucson, Arizona was a dramatic change from New Jersey and Manhattan, where I had been studying and serving in preparation for a lifetime of vocational ministry. Yes, the desert was rugged and prickly. But the towering mountains, stunning sunsets and pyrotechnically-inspired lightning storms captured my heart.
 
Did I mention that it was hot?
 
When I complained to the locals about the 110 F temperatures (And no, it doesn’t matter that it’s a dry heat. Trust me, you still bake like an overly-toasted potato chip), they informed me that the other 8 months of the year were delightful. Still, it was hot. As in energy-sucking, what-is-wrong-with-this-place?, Satan-is-my-next-door-neighbor-hot.
 
The heat is dangerous, to boot.
 
As you may be aware, the southwest is currently being torched by a terrible heat wave. With low temperatures not dipping below 95 F in some places, the conditions are ghastly (and so are the electric bills).
 
I remember talking to a doctor who worked at an area hospital when I lived in Arizona. He told me that one summer he treated a man who had suffered a heart attack on a sidewalk at midday. Although he was only on the concrete for a few minutes before help arrived, his second degree burns to his face were more significant than the damage to his heart.
 
Tragically, otherwise healthy individuals have died during the current heat wave. Hikers have ventured out into the desert in temperatures approaching 118 F. These folk suffered dizziness, nausea, throbbing headaches and eventually the inability to draw a breath. Then, they died.
 
As one local authority framed it, “Every one of these deaths was 100% avoidable.”
 
This past Sunday we were reminded of Jesus’s teachings from his Sermon on the Mount. He told his followers that those who did not put his words into actions would suffer a terrible fate. In his model prayer, Jesus instructs us to pray that we will not be led into temptation and that we will be delivered from evil.
 
Jesus knows that sin is 100% avoidable but that we are universally powerless to its charms. So he tells us to be aware of sin’s insidious reality in the world and to summon God’s power and strength to defeat it.
 
Is it enough to pray Jesus’s prayer? Will these words buffer us from evil and protect us from ourselves?
 
I believe that this element in the Lord’s Prayer heightens our sensitivity to the lure of sin. With this prayer, God gives us the power to resist temptation and to choose God’s will and not our own. God equips us to defeat evil, but we are weak to summon God’s power, aren’t we?
 
Just as the national weather service provides us with warnings for threatening and inclement weather, Jesus teaches us to know what is good and what is right and to avoid circumstances where we are powerless to sin. God’s truth convicts us, and positions us to repent and to turn away from that which poisons our souls and wrecks our world. Practically speaking, we’ve got to be aware of that which we are tempted and to avoid it with the same seriousness of a dire forecast. Surrounding ourselves with others, and practicing confession and hearing God’s assurance, is an excellent step in locating ourselves in the cool breeze of the air conditioning rather than the charcoal-grill-heat of the wild.
 
In full disclosure, I hear two things as your pastor when I speak about sin. First, I hear appreciation for saying that which is hard to say and hard to hear. And second, I hear resistance, and an unwillingness to address ethical, moral and systemic failings.
 
And yet, I must confess to you that I am a sinner. Being aware of my own sin enables me to recognize my absolute need for Jesus Christ. Jesus is more than just a wise guru or peddler of prophetic wisdom. Because of my corruption and continued dance with temptation, I need Jesus to be my savior—to save me from my sins.
 
Like Jesus, I believe that the presence of evil and the temptation to sin is as real as the desert heat; and equally as deadly.