Saving the Story

Saving Private Ryan is one of my favorite movies. It's a powerful World War II film about a small band of U.S. soldiers who are ordered to journey behind enemy lines to retrieve Private James Ryan after three of his brothers are killed in separate engagements (and all within days of each other). Ryan's would-be rescuers are initially resentful of their dangerous task, questioning why the life of a single ordinary soldier—who they've never even met—carries more weight than all of their lives combined. Somewhere along the way, though, the mission becomes more than just saving Ryan: The band of searchers also seek personal redemption, desperately striving to accomplish one decent thing, to regain a measure of their humanity amidst a multitude of unspeakable acts, to “earn the right to go home.” It's an incredible story about sacrifice and redemption with several unforgettable scenes.

Stay with me. I'll do my best to come to the point shortly.

Now suppose, for a minute, I ask two people (We'll call them Kate and Greg) what Saving Private Ryan is about. Let's pretend Kate has only seen the film once, while Greg is the movie's all time “biggest fan.” How about we go a bit further and say Greg has seen Saving Private Ryan no less than 100 times, he knows every line, and can even do a spot on Tom Hanks impersonation. His enthusiasm for the film has prompted him to become a World War II history buff who can elaborate in great detail about nuanced 20th Century European politics, precise troop deployment and military tactics during the invasion of Normandy, and he can even tell me what Himmler's favorite color was. Greg went so far as to become fluent in German, so he wouldn't need any of the subtitles. Now suppose our first person, Kate, after only one viewing, can more or less tell me what the movie is about (though she may have forgotten some of the character's names and certain details here and there) while Greg, on the other hand, is completely unable to explain the plot (even in the most simplest terms). Lets say Greg (who, remember, can act out every individual scene) earnestly describes Spielberg's gritty war film as a “romantic comedy.” Anyone who's seen the film, with its graphic violence and sombre tone, knows Greg is way out to lunch with his description. Given what we know about Kate and Greg, which of the two would you say has a firmer grasp of the story? Now suppose we're talking about a much more significant story than Saving Private Ryan. A similar occurrence to what I've just described with Greg, our fictional “movie buff,” unfortunately seems to happen way too often when Christians attempt to tell the story of God. They may be extremely well versed on several of the individual components, but they're, in many cases, tragically unable to identify the main beats of the narrative or even the overarching point of it all.

The Disconnect

One of the reasons for this inability to see the big picture is due to the disjointed way in which we typically learn the story (or better said, the way we learn the stories). N.T. Wright, in How God Became King, discusses how we tend to miss the forest for the trees in our reading of the four gospels, and I think the same can be said for our reading of the whole story. In Sunday School, we're taught moral lessons from the biblical characters' exploits (courage in the face of persecution, for example, through the tale of Daniel and the lion's den, learning to trust Jesus as Peter steps out of the boat, etc.). And then later in “big church,” we learn important theological concepts like the nature of the Trinity, the sufficiency of the cross, and so on (We tend to work backwards, though, using the stories as explanations and evidences for the important doctrines that we've isolated and to reinforce our resulting sophisticated theological models). Unfortunately, we quickly develop tunnel vision (the kind that has allowed Christians through the ages to justify the genocidal underbelly of “manifest destiny,” slavery, segregation, rabid nationalism, social isolation, consumerism, apathy toward refugees and immigrants, pursuing safety and security over the Gospel, etc.). The simple truth is we tend to live our lives based on our perception of what the story is about (including where it's all headed), even if the narrative we're operating under was merely Frankenstein-ed together in our subconscious from all the loose bits and pieces.

Maybe to me the story is best described as a low-budget indie film that gives an artsy close-up of my own “personal salvation” (in which the original widescreen narrative is conspicuously truncated, I'm the main character, and passages like Jeremiah 29:11 were obviously written with me in mind). It could also be more of a buddy comedy that follows me and my wisecracking, pocket-size Jesus as I’m “tossed to and fro” on a wild romp through relativism (In this version I'm too “authentic” for organized religion, so I pretty much improvise the story all by myself as I go). Perhaps I see the story as the feel good movie of the summer that whimsically chronicles my prosperous “best life now.” Maybe I’m at the other end of the spectrum, and it’s an intense thriller that’s built around a great escape theme (where my role in the unfolding narrative is to hunker down in this present liberal “hellhole,” withdraw from society, gather as much “helpful intel” from questionable pseudo news sources as possible, and wait for the hero to suddenly and dramatically break me out and relocate me to a beach in Tahiti). Perhaps I see the story of God unfolding like a political propaganda film that equates the U.S. to the kingdom of God and nationalistic endeavors of “making America Great again” with the Great Commission (in this script, the epic “spiritual battle” between the elephant and the donkey is center stage). I guess I could even see it as a bizarre sci-fi, in which the audience is frequently asked to suspend its disbelief, as nothing in the story makes any sense (I’m looking at you, Joseph Smith). Some say it’s a “love story.” We're probably getting warmer (It ends with a wedding after all). But if it’s a romance, it’s no Sleepless in Seattle or The Notebook by any stretch. It would have to be much more one-sided, something like When Hosea Met Gomer.

Establishing the Story's Important Landmarks

Back when I was an art student, my figure drawing instructor would teach us to roughly block out our construction lines and basic forms before drawing in the details and shading. One of the marks of a novice is how they're always too eager to move on to the fine tuning before laying a proper foundation, and it shows in their finished composition (No amount of shading can make up for a poorly constructed and disproportioned figure). The figure we're drawing here is Jesus. He frames the unfolding story from Genesis to Revelation. He's the Author, the Protagonist, the Beginning and the End.

So here's my best attempt at identifying the main beats of his story:

The story began with God (the only Hero in the narrative)

He created an Ideal universe by the power of his Word

Humans were made in his image as his representatives (God's plan is to reign over his creation through his human administrators). They were instructed to multiply and fill the earth.

A single law was given…

Followed by rebellion/exile/bondage/death (With the rejection of the Tree of Life, all of creation was broken and heaven and earth were torn apart)

A broken man and his family were chosen as representatives to a rebellious humanity (God is set on his original plan to reign over his creation through his image bearers). He promised to multiply them and bless the whole earth through this man’s Seed.

An expanded law was given…

Followed by continuing cycles of rebellion/exile/bondage/failure

God sent his Son, just as he promised, as a descendant of the man “who believed” and as a stand-in for his inadequate family. He accomplished on their behalf the task of keeping God’s law and reconciling the Creator and his broken creation (by way of his life, death, and resurrection). As the only obedient image-bearer (the perfect Representative), he reclaimed the family of faith’s original birthright and vocation (which also happened to be humanity’s original birthright and vocation) and dealt a fatal blow to rebellion and death.

Everyone who acknowledges God’s Son as the rightful King is invited to participate in his kingdom as redeemed and restored representatives. These redeemed kingdom people—who are collectively an extension of the King, his “body,” his “church,” his “bride”—are the true family of faith as they are marked, empowered, and led by his Spirit and instructed to multiply and fill the earth (by sacrificially and incarnationally declaring and demonstrating the story of what God has accomplished through his Son).

He writes his law on renewed hearts...

And by God's grace, his renewed people inherit obedience/reconciliation/freedom/LIFE (and the mended become menders).

All authority has been given to the King. He oversees his advancing kingdom, through the power of his Spirit, as he's presently seated at the right hand of the Father.

The human rebels who tragically opt out of God’s active redemptive plan for his universe, along with the instigator, will be judged by the King upon his physical return (at which point he will “make all things new” by raising the dead/swallowing death up forever, banishing evil from his universe/fully restoring his creation, completely reunifying heaven and earth with his presence, and submitting everything to his Father).

I see the story of God as a big-budget (considering that the Director has literally poured his blood, sweat, and tears into its production), sweeping, redemptive story of how God is taking back his rebel world through the person and work of Jesus.

Core Themes

There are several significant themes threaded through God’s story. I’d like to briefly highlight a few. Redemption and restoration are among the most frequently reoccurring themes: that is taking something spoiled, spent, wasted, and ruined and making it new again (usually at great cost). God’s propensity toward redemption and restoration is illustrated on just about every page of Holy Scripture. He is gloriously inefficient in his stubborn refusal to simply scrap broken things and start again.

One of my personal favorites is the underdog theme. God has a noticeable affinity for the long shot. He often takes the youngest, weakest, unskilled, outsiders, never gonna happen, lowliest tribe, least likely, lost causes and losers and makes them into kings, prophets, freedom-bringing, giant-slaying, miracle-working, champions of God. He brings his best news to shepherds, beggars, orphans, widows, the marginalized, and the outcasts. In God's kingdom, “the last will be first, and the first will be last” (Matthew 20:16), and the King will wash their feet. “He has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts,” says Mary, the mother of Jesus, “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:51b-53). God's own Son comes to us from a poor family, a marginalized ethnic group, laid in an animal feed trough, and raised in a hick-ville, backwoods part of Judea, formerly uneducated, and, for all intents and purposes, homeless (“he had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him”—from Isaiah 53:2). According to Paul there is a method to the Creator's madness, “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (1 Corinthians 1:27-29).

Another reoccurring theme in God’s story (and the mechanism by which he carries out redemption and allows for restoration) is this idea of substitution: a person or a people standing in for others (this is no doubt difficult for individualistic Americans to accept, but none of the story makes any sense without comprehending God’s thinking on this). The first humans were assigned the task of tending to the world and being God’s go-betweens, his representatives or stand-ins to/from creation. Adam, as our first father, acted negatively in this capacity. In God’s mind, since all of humanity proceeds from this man, there is continuity between Adam and us. All of humanity has inherited his rebellion against God, his failure in the garden (we all subsequently contribute our own personal rebellion as well).

Redemptive human substitutes (as a foreshadowing of the ultimate stand-in) are often used of God to rescue by way of their own suffering. Joseph, as an example, was rejected by his brothers, sold into slavery, wrongly accused and thrown into prison, eventually vindicated, elevated, and ultimately used to rescue his family, the people of Egypt, and most of the Near East. According to Joseph, the whole thing was God’s plan to turn evil back on itself, to bring about good.

Abraham and his family, which eventually became a nation, were also said to serve as a stand-in for humanity. God purposely used Abraham’s family to retell the story on a smaller more intimate scale (he’s a skilled storyteller who knows good stories need characters, faces, and flesh for humans to connect). God promised to bless this family so that they would be a blessing to everyone else. They were to be a nation of priests, or go-betweens, leading the world back to the Creator and mediating between the two. But, as Wright points out, the proposed rescuers needed rescuing themselves. So Jesus (as the descendant of Adam, Abraham, and King David) stood in for all of humanity, but, more precisely, as the heir to David’s throne, he stood in for Abraham’s family of faith (who, in a sense, was standing in for the rest of humanity). That gets a bit convoluted, but it’s important to understanding the progression of the story (how the sub-story of Israel plays into the story of God). The gospels make it clear that Jesus was standing in for Israel, fulfilling their vocation, as he was depicted symbolically retracing their historic steps (He was called out of Egypt, passed through water, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, and so on). At every turn, he was faithful where his ancestors failed (he withstood temptation in the wilderness, he perfectly upheld the law of God, he overcame in the garden). He’s Israel’s divine do-over—and, by extension, he’s humanity’s do-over too.

Another important theme that drives the narrative is God’s desire and promise to dwell among his people. God is of course everywhere to begin with (“omnipresent”), but he hasn’t made his home, his dwelling, everywhere and in the same way (Just as a husband and wife can simultaneously occupy a room, perhaps in a state of disinterest or strife, and yet still fall short of the closeness that God is after). Before Adam’s rebellion, the Creator and his creation enjoy a state of indescribable unity. It’s far beyond just occupying the same space.

This early idyllic state embodies God’s original intent, in which all of creation acts as his temple, his dwelling (a fully unified heaven and earth), and he reigns over the natural world through his human administrators (Genesis 1:26, 28). We can see, then, how the shattering of this paradise, due to human rebellion, causes destructive ripples throughout all of creation.

After the Fall (the rending of heaven and earth), God illustrated his promised return, in the dwelling sense, through a number of artifacts, icons, and “holy” places (the Ark of the Covenant, the Urim and Thummin, the Temple, etc.). These were objects or locations (in which heaven and earth symbolically intersect or “interlock,” as Wright would say) that prophetically pointed forward to the scene described in Revelation when paradise is restored, God comes to dwell among his people on earth, and we see him “face to face.” Solomon’s Temple (as the pinnacle of these holy spaces) illustrated this same longing for a return to Eden, when creation effectively functioned as God’s temple, with numerous pictorial examples of trees, fruit, animals, and nature.

Jesus—a genuine human who is also the exact image of the transcendent Creator—is the ultimate example of heaven and earth intersecting. He is “God with us,” and, as such, he naturally supersedes all the illustrations that came before. In John’s Gospel, Jesus describes himself as the true Temple of God. He tells the Samaritan woman at the well (in response to her question about where one should worship the God who dwells in heaven) that a time is coming (and has come) in which location will no longer be an issue. Through the person and work of Jesus (which includes the sending of his Spirit), God has extended this heaven-and-earth-intersecting phenomenon (illustrated in “spiritual hotspots,” so to speak, like the Temple, but truly realized in Christ) to everyone who wants in. This present existence—being a Spirit-filled extension of the Living Temple, a mobile, kingdom-bringing spiritual hotspot—is merely a taste of what’s to come.

The full consummation of this theme comes with the physical return of Jesus and the complete restoration of his creation. At which point, he will “dwell” with his people in a freshly restored and seamlessly reunified, heaven and earth. The story of God, then, is a long and painful round about trip back to the beginning. Well, almost. It’s a bit more than just ending up back home where we started. Paradise begins with the early seeds (two image-bearers and endless potential) of what God ultimately envisioned and is finally reborn with a whole city, made from “living stones,” of redeemed and restored administrators who possess intimate knowledge regarding the weight of rebellion, the sting of death, the high cost of redemption, and the unfathomable distance our King will go to put things back on track.

Simple Steps Forward

We might have added a third character to Kate and Greg: Let's call him Phil. Phil has really only seen about ten cumulative minutes of Saving Private Ryan (He was in the bathroom, getting snacks, talking, and sleeping through the rest). He probably still has a strong opinion about the story, though. And if any questions come up, Phil will likely ask Greg (he's the expert after all). One of the most immediately helpful remedies for the mass confusion surrounding the story of God is for all Christians to simply see the whole movie. I’m a slow reader, myself, and getting through all 66 books can definitely seem like a daunting task for a newcomer (especially Numbers), but a through-the-Bible-in-a-year format (in which the whole Bible has been conveniently broken up into 15-minute daily readings that correspond to a calendar year) has really been helpful to me (it’s exciting to start spotting repeating themes and important parallels, especially when you progress through the Old and New Testaments concurrently). There are also a bunch of great audio and video options to have Scripture spoken to you on your computer or smartphone if reading isn’t your thing (You can even find one with a British accent for when you’re feeling particularly classy). Don't be dissuaded by those who imply anything short of reading from a page is somehow a less “spiritual” method of learning the story (especially if you're an auditory or visual learner). I recommend changing versions each year, too, in order to have a fresh look at something that may already be familiar to you (I like the NIV and ESV in most cases, but I also enjoyed reading God’s story by way of the NLT this last go around). The big idea is to consume and metabolize the story, though, in whatever format compliments your individual learning style.

It’s a little trickier if it turns out we’re Greg, the confused film enthusiast, who already considers himself an expert. It’s incredibly difficult, once we’ve firmly established in our mind that Saving Private Ryan is a romantic comedy, and spent years interpreting each of the individual grisly scenes with that understanding in mind, to then humbly step back and look again with new eyes. There are many of us who, like Nicodemus, need to unlearn what we've learned so we can start over from the beginning. Jesus of course commended the “Gregs” for their thoroughness in some areas. Greg's extensive historical knowledge, for example, could potentially give him a greater appreciation for the film (a depth that Kate may not experience with her single viewing and lack of background info). It's awesome if one has studied Hebrew and Greek and given a lot of thought to historical context and complex theological concepts. But Jesus also sternly rebuked the Gregs of his day for being overly attentive to small things while neglecting the “weightier,” or “more important,” aspects of the law (the aspects that reveal God's heart for “justice, mercy, and faithfulness”—Matthew 23:23). I've read and heard many respected teachers and theologians who, despite their extensive biblical knowledge, sometimes express gross ignorance about core themes of the story of God (as seen in many of their conclusions, allegiances, and endeavors). Our mastery of the individual components is pointless if, like Greg, we fail to comprehend the overarching story.

Learn to tell a 3-5 minute version of the Story of God from Genesis to Revelation (Just thinking about the overarching story and how best to tell it is incredibly good for us). Practice with other Christ-followers, and ask for feedback (People aren't always hearing what we think we're saying, so this becomes a very helpful exercise). If we've succumbed to the story of God—been transformed by the good news of his better kingdom—then we need to be ready to explain to onlookers just exactly what's happening (not only within our own lives, but what God is up to in the world and where it's all headed). I've heard it said, "The Gospel found you on its way to someone else." Become a great story teller, like Jesus, and share his good news often and in everyday life. Be familiar enough with the story to be able to contextualize the Gospel to your hearer's specific brokenness (the story doesn't change, but what we emphasize and how we deliver it should be customized as the Holy Spirit leads us). Jesus addressed a promiscuous woman's underlying longing, for example, by offering “living water” that would satisfy her true thirst. In an earlier encounter, he told a jaded theologian that he would need to start over and be “born again” (this time, by way of the Spirit). Jesus also invited a young rich man of power to give it all up and find his treasure and identity in the true King instead.

A film like Saving Private Ryan has an actual story that the writer, director, cast and production team are trying to tell. We, as the audience, aren’t at liberty to just rewrite the movie as a slapstick comedy, a horror film, or a western. We’re of course free to create our own stories, but we shouldn’t commandeer or misrepresent someone else’s story. All the more, we should take the time to get God's story right. Remember that our understanding of the story will inform how we live our lives (for better or for worse). So let's invest in developing a strong foundation built around the main beats of the narrative and a firm grasp of the overarching themes (It's all well and good to progress on to deeper truths, but we should first get the basics down). Ultimately, it's through the story of God that we come to know him, know ourselves, and become known. As we faithfully read the script, we find that God has written each of us into his epic redemptive tale. But if we fail to see the story unfolding—what God is up to in the world—then we'll undoubtedly miss our cue, and the story will simply carry on without us.

“...beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, [Jesus] explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.” - Luke 24:27

(The Bible Project has a bunch of great videos that guide you through God's story book-by-book. They just finished their through the Bible series, and they also have some great theme videos. I highly recommend them as a resource.)

Stan

 

I met Stan at a coffee shop. He was a jovial retired life insurance salesman who would frequently come in to the downtown location to have his morning cup of joe and to read his paper. His navy blue World War II Vet cap was his daily uniform, and he always had a smile and joke for the baristas. My brother-in-law Mike and I used to meet every Monday morning before work to read Scripture together, so we would often see Stan carryout his morning routine along with the other regulars. 

One morning he walked right over to our table, introduced himself, and asked what we were reading. We told him we were followers of Jesus, and we met weekly to read Scripture together and pray for each other. He proudly declared that he was Jewish and that he didn't believe Jesus was the Messiah. I always appreciated Stan's frankness. He grew up in Brooklyn and didn't waste time getting to the point. Before we left that morning, we let him know he was always welcome to join us. He came back the next week and the week after.

He sat with us just about every Monday for months as we went through the Gospel of John. We got him a large print Bible so he could read with us. He would bring it along with his Hebrew Scriptures, what Christians call the Old Testament, and would read for us when we discussed Isaiah or some of the other prophetic messianic passages. We had many conversations about the promised Messiah. I think Stan debated just about every verse we read, but he kept coming back. 

Stan was raised to distrust Christians. He explained how his immigrant parents viewed the church in Europe as being complicit with or indifferent toward anti-Semitic politics and the eventual murder of millions of Jews. I’m reminded how our political affiliations—our failure to clearly speak out against evil—can potentially create lasting and formidable barriers to Jesus.

Stan shared with us that he had a close friend who became a Christian. He noted that his friend's life was chaotic before meeting Jesus and drastically transformed for the better after. Stan seemed to brush his friend's transformation off as little more than the results of a powerful placebo. Still, he had great respect for him. I wondered if his friend's new birth had sparked a curiosity in Stan that compelled him to want to know more about Jesus. 

Stan knew a lot of the shop’s patrons, so just having him sitting at our table opened the door to some conversations we wouldn’t have otherwise had. I remember how a colorful construction worker, an acquaintance of Stan’s, who apparently had been listening to our conversation, would join in from time to time. We had a few interesting discussions about life and God with this guy who usually sat at a nearby table across the way from us. I pray the seeds of the good news were cast wide in these public conversations, amidst the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop’s morning traffic. 

Stan was very proud of his Jewish heritage. He told us how his kids, when they were young, would invite their classmates and neighborhood friends to join the family at Passover and other celebrations. I loved how Stan and his wife enjoyed explaining the meaning behind the traditions and welcoming strangers to their table. He once invited me to visit his synagogue and warmly introduced my daughter and me to his wife and friends. He also gave me an honorary “Jew Card” (seriously, it's a personalized card that grants me “all the rights of being Jewish”) which was characteristic of his sense of humor. 

We would often conclude our time with prayer. Stan regularly asked us to pray for his wife's arthritis pain and his daughter who had led a troubled life. It wasn't common for Stan to make a request for himself. Characteristic of his generation, he didn't like to fuss about his own personal woes. With a heavy heart, he let us know one Monday morning that his daughter had passed away. He invited me to join his family for the memorial service in his home. I felt a little out of place in such an intimate setting of shared grief, especially since I had never met his daughter, but I was incredibly honored to be included. 

We spoke about death and divine judgement from time to time. Stan said his dad told him when he was young that he would one day have to answer to God for everything he had ever done. He didn't elaborate, but he indicated that he had sinned against a holy God on more than one occasion. He found the thought of substitutionary atonement, Jesus dying in our place, repugnant. “Each person should answer for his own sins,” is what he would say. Like most people, Stan hoped his good would outweigh the bad. 

Stan had missed a few Mondays, so I stopped by his house to check in on him. We sat in his study, surrounded by trinkets and family photos, as he told me he hadn't been feeling too good. His doctor had found a spot on his liver that they were concerned about. He brushed it off as if it was no big deal, but I could see he was worried. He once told me that he didn't believe in resurrection. There were also moments when his no-nonsense, tough exterior gave way to brief and honest confessions of his fears about dying. But he didn’t linger there. He showed me some old pictures of the B-25 he flew in during the war. He was a turret gunner if I remember correctly. He would really come to life as he shared stories and photos from his time in the service. I asked if I could pray for him (in Jesus' name, as he knew was my custom) before I left that evening. He gave me permission, so I asked God for healing and that Stan's test results would be favorable. That was the last time I saw Stan. 

I dropped by his house a few weeks later, and his wife greeted me at the door. I asked for Stan and was shocked as she informed me that he had passed away suddenly. The spot turned out to be an aggressive cancer that took him days after it was discovered. She apologized for not inviting me to his funeral (she didn’t have my contact information). I felt the weight of routinely carrying on my life the last few weeks, unaware of my friend's passing. I also felt unavoidable regret that I had just casually asked his grieving widow where he was (forcing her to fill me in on Stan's fate). I wish he told me how near he was to the end. I wish we had finished John's Gospel together. I wish that God had healed him and we had more time. I wish I could have said a better goodbye. I wish there was a better end to Stan's story. 

I believe the Spirit of God was drawing him to Jesus, but I will not presume to know the inner workings of Stan's heart. I will not ascribe to him more than he himself disclosed. God seems to honor and sustain our ability to choose, and Stan never indicated that his opinion of Jesus had changed. I still believe God has purpose in seemingly mundane interactions, and it's cathartic for me to write about Stan (Some three years after his passing). I search for meaning in regard to my time with him. I can find no meaning, however, beyond this: Stan was my friend, and death took him. Jesus came to rescue and restore. He is the only Physician—the only Cure—that can effectively treat the fatal illness afflicting us all. 

And we don’t have half as much time to get the word out as we pretend.

How to More Than Just Survive the Zombie Apocalypse

My wife and I have kinda been binge-watching a zombie show the last few weeks. After we get the kids to bed, we're like two codependent junkies. “Just one more episode,” has become our notorious last line. The story is driven by a group of average people who find themselves in the midst of a global zombie outbreak. Their old lives are only a distant memory, as they are now preoccupied with the more pressing and all-consuming task of staying alive. In many cases the individual members of the group have nothing in common beyond their catastrophic circumstances, but they are firmly unified and mobilized by their shared objective. They must work through their differences, forgive, and resolve their conflicts because their weightier task compels them to band together. Their marital conflicts, parental teaching moments, and occasional leisure times and impromptu celebrations must happen in community and on the go, while scavenging for supplies, defending each other against the undead, strategizing, and constantly moving forward. Throughout their extraordinary ordeal they inevitably become family. Those of us who have succumbed to the gospel are similarly caught up into something far bigger than ourselves (and there really is no way to smoothly transition from zombies to the gospel). Our entire outlook should be completely shifted. According to Scripture, we live in a world filled with the walking dead, but we’ve also been entrusted with the Cure for the zombie apocalypse. 

Most Christians are familiar with Jesus’ Great Commission (recorded in Matthew chapter 28). There is some discussion among Greek scholars as to whether Jesus is commanding his disciples to “go” or if he is just assuming that they will be going (something like “as you go...”). I am unqualified to settle this linguistic debate, but it seems irrelevant to me if in either case Jesus is expecting forward movement. What comes after is, I think, very clear (and only a heart of disobedience could muddy it). We are told to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything [Jesus has] commanded [us].” Thankfully Jesus promises to be “with [us] always” in this endeavor. Far from mere survival or escapism (like in the zombie show), we are given a triumphant and redemptive kingdom task. We are charged with declaring and demonstrating the victory and boundless jurisdiction of our liberating King—who is waking the dead to life—and his coming kingdom. The urgency and the centrality of the mission are similar to that of the folks in the zombie saga, but the rewards and dangers are infinitely greater. 

As followers of Christ, we are not to be consumed (totally fits with the zombie theme) by the cares of the world. We are instead to be captivated by his better kingdom and driven by his heartbeat to seek and save the lost. Like the folks in the zombie show, we find ourselves in extraordinary circumstances. We must recognize the dangers of being complacent or unengaged. “The time is short,” says the Apostle Paul. “From now on those who have wives should live as if they do not; those who mourn, as if they did not; those who are happy, as if they were not; those who buy something, as if it were not theirs to keep; those who use the things of the world, as if not engrossed in them. For this world in its present form is passing away.” (1 Corinthians 7:29b-31). Likewise, Jesus explained to his would-be followers, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). Are Jesus and Paul telling us to neglect and/or despise our families, to just suck it up when we’re grieving, and to never celebrate or smile in the good times? Clearly they are not. Elsewhere Jesus famously commands us to love even our enemies, and Paul says that husbands should love their wives as “Christ loved the church” and warns that Christian men who fail to provide for their family are “worse than unbelievers” (Ephesians 5:25 and 1 Timothy 5:8). Jesus also wept with those experiencing grief and celebrated with those who were rejoicing. It seems then that Jesus and Paul are describing a devotion to Christ and his kingdom that supersedes all other relationships and obligations, a kingdom perspective that causes us to hold loosely to our physical possessions and personal safety. Jesus warns, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). Our families, jobs, finances, and leisure time can be huge blessings and potential assets on the journey, but they are not to become distractions or idols that draw our hearts away from the mission. 

It's so easy for our schedules to become filled up with school activities, soccer practice, work deadlines, hobbies and leisure (this is coming from a guy who just confessed to binge-watching a television show). Our hopes and dreams start revolving around our upcoming family vacation, a new car, promotion at work, a sport’s season, or retirement. With our short-sighted vision, our prayers also become limited to requests for parking spaces when we're running late, escape from suffering and illness, clarity from God regarding which new house he wants us to buy (and that he'd give us a great deal), and a miraculous transfer to another division for our hard-to-get-along-with supervisor or coworker. How silly (not to mention dangerous) it would be for the zombie show’s survivalists to go about their lives as if nothing had changed, to pretend that they weren’t surrounded by immense death and decay. 

I think our intentions are good. In many cases, we just don't know any other way. We tragically may not even know what we said “yes” to when we decided to follow Jesus. Several of us responded to another gospel—the popular Americanized gospel of personal salvation, isolation, and eventual extraction—instead of the gospel of the kingdom of God that Jesus and his apostles preached. The latter gospel, the true gospel, is a bigger story that doesn't end after we say “the prayer.” It's a story of rescue and restoration, in which we not only become recipients but also participants in his ambitious redemptive plan for our neighborhood, our city, and the world. It’s about Light heroically crashing into a dark world, transforming once-agents of darkness into his light-bearers, and commissioning them to spread out and shine in every dark corner. It's an extraordinary story that requires the presence and power of the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead. There are important rights and responsibilities that accompany our kingdom citizenship. The Holy Spirit was not given to us merely so we would have a supernatural leg-up while investing in all the same mundane things that our not-yet-believing friends, family, neighbors, and coworkers are pursuing. “Something is wrong,” says Francis Chan, “when our lives make sense to unbelievers” (Crazy Love). 

It's not that we will no longer be participating in any of these things. We still need to work, raise our kids, and buy stuff. Rest and leisure are also useful blessings from God. But these ordinary rhythms of life have the potential to be dramatically transformed when our vision aligns with his. The Holy Spirit will begin to organize our time and resources in a way that promotes his agenda and not ours (After all, we’ve died to ourselves, right?). We’ll start seeing great opportunities to make room at our dinner tables and to open up our homes to those who are presently far off (holidays, birthdays, and various other celebrations become natural occasions for this to happen). We will notice how we can actively bless our kids’ classmates and their classmates’ families, teachers, and coaches by serving and inviting. In God's story, there is a “good infection” (to borrow C.S. Lewis' term)–the Cure—that can be transmitted in close proximity from the living to the dead. We may begin to view ourselves as “disciple-makers” who work for FedEx, “priests” who are also dental hygienists, “ministers of reconciliation” who tent-make as contract lawyers, and “ambassadors” of his better kingdom who are assigned to teach kindergartners. Once we've caught his vision, there's no going back. Our aspirations, prayers, priorities, hopes and dreams will quickly and organically start reflecting our changed hearts. 

The 1st Century followers of Christ seemed to understand what they were saying “yes” to. They certainly weren't perfect. The Holy Spirit had his metaphorical hands full dealing with their deeply entrenched prejudices, legalism, bad theology, and immorality (pretty much the same stuff he's still working with the Church on today). But they seemed to have caught the vision of God's kingdom and Jesus' radical agenda. Ordinary and unnamed followers of Christ, tent makers, merchants, tanners, soldiers, slaves, and business owners banded together to carry the good news of God's kingdom to the ends of the earth. The ground they covered, the obstacles they overcame, is nothing short of miraculous and a testament to the Spirit-led life. Aquila and Priscilla were among many Jewish Christians who were expelled from Rome by an unjust edict. They lost their home and business and became wandering refugees. But they didn't let these setbacks stop them. They didn't lose sight of their calling. They continued to share the good news in everyday life as they rebuilt in Corinth. We're told in Acts how they partnered with Paul and opened up their home for ministry. And they didn't get too comfortable. We read how they packed their life up and moved on again when an opportunity to serve with Paul in Ephesus presented itself. An anonymous multitude of transformed Christ-followers stubbornly stayed the course amidst extreme persecution. They gave generously and recklessly out of their poverty. They practiced lavish hospitality both to their spiritual family and to outsiders. They were clearly not living for anything this world had to offer. Their prayers were not for comfort or safety but for boldness to preach the gospel, for courage to suffer well, and for power to take more ground. As a result, they “turned the world upside down” (Acts 17:6). 

I know there are times when we feel like we're barely surviving. We may feel the zombie hordes pressing in on all sides. The weight of living in a dark world, of “fighting the good fight,” can seem overwhelming. Our own fears and failings can be crippling. But this is not the time to abandon the mission. Something has gone horribly wrong when the living start envying the dead. In these times we must press in even more to Jesus, and rally with the church. We must remind ourselves that our inheritance is not of this world. “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead,” says Jesus (Matthew 8:22). The concerns of the living should be drastically different from the concerns and preoccupations of the dead. 

This is what I want for my family, my church, and my neighborhood. I want to live this paradoxical life-abundant in community through service to others and death to self. As Jesus said, it is only when we give our life up that we truly live. Ironically, it is in “wartime living,” when we are giving of our time and resources sacrificially, that the celebrations become sweeter, the bonds of friendship deeper, and the victories more meaningful. I have what I think is a healthy fear of slipping into apathy, so I beg my fellow Christ-followers to keep me on track when I lose the vision, when I settle for the things of the world. We need each other. I also want to partner with my spiritual family members who are urgently seeking the kingdom of God among the unreached and unengaged in cross-cultural contexts around the world, and I want to see our interconnectedness as we labor together toward the same end. I know that I could hunker down, wait for the return of Christ, and live an empty life full of common things. But I will have missed out on the adventure of a lifetime. It's the one who seeks to save their life, explains Jesus, who loses it in the end. Those who have yet to meet Jesus are still dead in their sins and stumbling around aimlessly, pursuing their destructive and insatiable appetites for lesser things (my last zombie reference, I promise). How confusing it must be to them when our lives resemble theirs. I don't want to work the kingdom into my busy life; I want to let Jesus build my life around his kingdom agenda.

“…let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith” (from Hebrews 12:1 and 2).

 

   

Caesar is not Lord!

 

Gaius Octavius, or “Augustus” as he was later called, was Rome's first emperor and reigning monarch when Jesus was born. In his younger years, he had successfully avenged his assassinated predecessor and adopted father, the beloved Julius Caesar, triumphantly quelled Mark Antony and Cleopatra's famous uprising, effectively transitioned the old republic into an empire, built impressive aqueducts and highways, and ushered in an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity throughout the known world. “Pax Romana,” or the peace of Rome, is how they described Augustus' cumulative accomplishments. His kingdom seemed without end. He was known as the “savior of Rome” and the “savior of the world.” If this were not enough, he had the senate posthumously deify his murdered father and as a result became known as the living son of god. The “prince of peace,” “savior of the world,” “son of god”—remind you of anyone? I don't think we can fully appreciate the audacity and apparent absurdity of Christ's sweeping counterclaims without an understanding of Augustus and his successors. This was the setting in which Jesus' 1st Century followers defiantly contradicted the prevailing sociopolitical narrative by insisting that Jesus—not Caesar—was the true Savior and Lord.

We should take note of our first brothers and sisters' timely example. They didn't buy into the brick and mortar kingdom, and they didn't look to the emperor for things he couldn't provide. They suffered great tribulation at the hands of the Caesars due to their stubborn refusal to participate in the imperial cult (which generally consisted of a simple annual sacrifice to Caesar). 1st Century Christians were often excluded from trade unions, marketplace commerce, and they were eventually crucified and made sport of in the Colosseum. The ethnically, culturally, and religiously diverse Roman empire was traditionally very tolerant of new spiritual ideas. Worshipping the emperor, however, was seen as one's minimal patriotic duty. After which, one was free to pursue any other theological conclusions that struck one's fancy. Jesus, the crucified Galilean, was not seen as a rival to the Roman pantheon, so long as his followers played ball. Only they wouldn't.

There always has been an alternative to Jesus—an antichrist. There's always another kingdom to pursue, another story that promises to be good news. Had the 1st Century Christians been seduced by the dream of “making the empire great again,” building a robust economy, securing the boarders, exhibiting national strength with a firm foreign policy and military prowess—Caesar would have been the obvious leader to follow (or any number of the ambitious zionist militants for the Hebrew Christians wanting to make national Israel great again). Jesus offered none of these things. Two thousand years later, his agenda and upside down methods remain unchanged. 

21st Century American Christ-followers have tragically inherited a faith-culture that sees Christianity and rabid nationalistic pride and devotion as not only compatible, but essentially inseparable. We're enamored with the romanticized glory days of our country, back when Moses penned the 2nd Amendment on Sinai and Jesus rode shotgun with George Washington across the Delaware. Silly as it sounds, contradicting the spirit of this narrative is tantamount to blasphemy in many circles. Our version of the American dream has become a golden calf. So to my brothers and sisters of this star-spangled persuasion, let me state plainly what you already know: The president is not our savior, the United States is not the kingdom of God, and our inappropriate longing to “make America great again” (the way we mean it) is incompatible with, and therefore a distraction from, the mission of God.

Our political anxieties often reveal our misguided hopes and divided loyalties. Every election year is sensationally described as the “most important.” “We can't have—so and so—get elected.” “We're doomed if—what's his face—doesn't get into office.” Whether we're banking on a human hope that promises change we can believe in or the guy or gal who vows to make America great again, we'll always be disappointed. Our leaders are not as to the point as Augustus was in calling himself the "son of god" or the "savior of the world." It's mostly us who expects them to be these things as seen in our collective angst and gnashing teeth. Interestingly, the rancor and vitriol we so freely spew about our political leaders on social media and around the water cooler is just another side of the same ugly hero-worship coin. The cycle of deifying and demonizing human leaders in general and politicians in particular is rooted an unrealistic, and inevitably unmet, expectations. Fellow Christ-follower, we seem to have largely forgotten that Caesar is not lord.

To be clear, I'm not trying to imply that there is a one-for-one equivalence between the Roman Empire and the United States or the Caesars and the Leader of the Free World. Nor am I suggesting that all patriotism is incongruent with following Jesus. I'm also not proposing that there should be a divide between politics and faith. As Christ-followers, we should love our country (wherever that may be), pay our taxes, faithfully perform our civic duties, genuinely respect and obey our leaders (in so far as their commands don't conflict with the wishes of our King), and actively seek the common good (Matt 22:21, 1 Peter 2:13, 17, 1 Cor. 10:24). In our current context, seeking the common good will include taking our democratic responsibilities seriously. In our earnest pursuit of God's kingdom, we will inevitably be invested in political outcomes. But we must never lose sight of our true Savior and Lord, the one who holds the hearts of kings in his hand. We don't look to Caesar for protection and prosperity. We don't curse his/her name when the Dow Jones plummets or unemployment rises. Our gaze is fixed on other things. Even if Nero or Jezebel takes the throne, we know who ultimately reigns supreme, and our lifelong task of declaring and demonstrating the good news of his kingdom remains the same. Keep calm this election season, and thank God that Caesar is not lord.

“to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 1:25). 

Imago Dei

 

My four-year-old daughter has a little toy rake that she enthusiastically runs and fetches whenever I set out to rid the yard of leaves. She loves “helping” daddy do the yard work. It's a terrifically inefficient process. She haphazardly moves leaves here and there in a way that only makes sense to her. I do my best to steer her in the right direction, get her pushing the leaves the same way I'm headed. Our collaboration is definitely a work in progress. When we've finally wrangled all the leaves into one big pile, she often likes to jump right in the middle and thrash around like she's making a snow angel. This inevitably adds more raking for me. But I love every second of it, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Likewise, it brings God great joy to include His children in His work—not because we are particularly useful or handy, but because we are His.

The creation story tells us how God affectionately crafted humanity in His own image. In the ancient world, the Roman emperors would erect marble sculptures of themselves throughout their empire in order to let their subjects know who was boss. In contrast to the Caesars' static symbols of power, God created living monuments to His greatness, conduits of His mercy and justice, and placed them in the world as His administrators. He instructed them to spread out, multiply, and exercise dominion over all creation. As His image bearers, humanity was empowered and commissioned by God to continue His creative work in the world by harnessing its raw potential. But what happens when the monuments refuse to reflect their glorious Creator? What happens when God's human administrators shirk their calling and rebelliously seek their own way? All of creation is currently living out the tragic answer to this not-so-hypothetical question. Instead of stewarding God's good creation, humanity exploits and oppresses all that God has entrusted to us. We were meant to be a blessing to the cosmos, yet by our own folly we became creation's curse.

Fortunately God is not swayed by humanity's consistent moral incompetence. He is as committed to His original plan to rule His creation through human administrators as ever. And so He became a human, the God-man Jesus of Nazareth, to set our wayward species back on track, to give us the costly reboot we so desperately needed. We can't help but note the counterintuitive way in which God reclaims His world. Suffering and dying as a frail human being is not the counter-move you would expect from an omnipotent being. It speaks volumes, however, about the way in which God views and wields power. Jesus claims that “His yoke is easy” and “His burden is light.” And while His disciples originally jockeyed for power over each other in typical human fashion, Jesus spoke of another way. He said that whoever aspired to be great in His kingdom would need to become the servant of all, and then went on to demonstrate this concept in both small and monumental ways. It seems His sovereignty is best displayed through His comfort with outsourcing His work to human agents. In His kingdom we are not only recipients of His restorative work in the world but we are also made into active participants—ambassadors, ministers of reconciliation, partners in the family business. It's the serpent who would have us believe that God is a megalomaniac, holding out on us, keeping us from our highest potential. C.S. Lewis uses his allegorical tale of Narnia to paint a compelling picture of God's role for humans. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the noble Aslan restores peace to Narnia by sacrificially redeeming the treasonous Edmund, defeating the White Witch, and enthroning the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve as his royal administrators over the mythical land. God would have us be kings and queens over His creation, while the lies of the serpent have reduced us to shackled slaves.

Our Creator regularly goes out of His way to utilize human beings to accomplish His purposes in the world. He shouts “let my people go!” through stuttering human voices and pours out His heart through human pens. He works His wonders through staffs and slings wielded by human hands. How beautiful are the feet that bring His good news. This is not by necessity or coincidence. It is in accordance with His good pleasure and express design. Right after the resurrected Jesus announced that all authority in heaven and on earth had been given to Him He immediately distributed His authority to His disciples so that they could carry out the Great Commission. In Acts chapter 10 we read about a Roman centurion named Cornelius who is ready to hear the Gospel. God sends an angel to him, not to tell him about what Jesus had accomplished, but merely to tell him that he needs to go find a man named Peter. Then God sends Peter a vision and tells him to get ready for Cornelius' visit. God goes to great lengths to arrange a meeting between these two men, reserving the best part—the Gospel proclamation—for Peter. How hard it must have been for the angel to hold his tongue as God gleefully disregarded expediency in favor of His precious child's clumsy involvement.

I think prayer is often of this same sort. At the end of Job's intense ordeal, God reprimands his inconsiderate “friends” by saying, “I am angry with you...because you have not spoken the truth about me.” He then goes on to instruct the men to ask Job to pray for them and promises that He will accept Job's prayer on their behalf and forgive them. This round about way of forgiving Job's friends may seem puzzling at first. Why doesn't God just forgive these guys if that's what He has already planned to do? It seems that He is honoring Job by making room in the process for his humble involvement. He tells us to keep asking Him, nagging Him even, for His kingdom to come, for His will to be done here on earth as it is in heaven—an outcome that He Himself is passionately committed to achieving whether we were to ask or not. And yet He says to ask just the same. Our ability to affect real change in the world through our request is His gift to us, and the time spent participating with our Father at work is a gift we share. Our “contribution” to God's work, as Mr. Lewis points out, can only be seen as a child borrowing money from her father to buy him a birthday gift. Though the father is pleased with the arrangement, he is in the end “none the richer.”

If my four-year-old sets out to rake the leaves on her own, it will undoubtedly end in failure. Jesus warns His followers, “apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Like a once-shattered mirror miraculously restored, God's image bearers are only set right through the work of His Christ. It is Jesus who qualifies us to “reign with him” as we were always meant to (Revelation 20:6). He is pleased to enable and assign us a place in His good work. He doesn't need little human helpers. He is more than capable of governing the cosmos—raking the leaves, so to speak—on His own. We will constantly be confounded by His behavior, however, if we try to understand a hyper-relational, triune God in terms of mere efficiency. He has a plan and purpose for the human race, and He is going to great lengths to see it through to its glorious conclusion. 

The House that Jesus Built (is Building)

 

 

If you grew up in church culture like I did, chances are you had a moment in which you were instilled with awe for “God's house.” Maybe it was when you were maniacally running through the “sanctuary” (not really sure why we call it that, by the way) or “worship center.” Perhaps you were gently instructed to show proper respect for “the house of the Lord.” My family and I would “go to church” every Sunday morning and at various other times throughout the week for midweek Bible studies, youth group, potlucks, game nights, Awana, VBS, rummage sales and so on. God loved having people over. If you knew someone who needed to meet Jesus, you would bring them to church too. Of course I understood through Biblical teaching that God was everywhere and lived in my heart, but it was also strongly implied through our behavior that the building was where we were the church and where all important church stuff took place. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not a bitter ex-church kid. I loved hanging out at “God's house.” I think there are a lot of good things going on—genuinely redemptive activities—in the typical, building-centric, church model. As I look through Scripture, though, I can't help but wonder if there could be another model that more closely embodies Jesus' intent for His Church.

“You are not the one to build me a house to dwell in,” was God's response to King David's well-intentioned offer to build Him a sweet pad (1 Chronicles 17:4b). Ever since the tragedy of Eden, God has given us glimpses of His endgame to once again dwell among humanity. He symbolically represented His presence among His people, for example, with various structures and artifacts. The first God-house was designed by Him to be extremely mobile. He is a God on the go, after all. By the time of David's reign, the people of Israel had been in the promised land for generations. It seemed like the perfect time to go all out with an upgrade to God's house. After God politely declined David's offer, He made the shepherd king a significant counter-offer. “I will raise up your offspring to succeed you, one of your own sons, and I will establish his kingdom. He is the one who will build a house for me, and I will establish his throne forever. I will be his father, and he will be my son” (1 Chronicles 17:11b-13a). On the one hand God is apparently giving the green light for David's son Solomon to build the proposed structure, but there is also a sense in which God is looking through Solomon to another “Son of David” and to another “house” to be built. Solomon himself seemed to recognize the limitations of the beautiful building he constructed. “The heavens, even the highest heavens, cannot contain you,” he says to God, “How much less this temple I have built!” (2 Chronicles 6:18b).

Centuries after Solomon's death, David's other Son arrived on the scene ready to get to work. In the second chapter of John's gospel, Jesus referred to His own body as the true temple of God. “For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form” (Colossians 2:9). And when His disciples commented on how beautiful the man-made building appeared, He was quick to remind them that its days were now numbered. It had become obsolete, as the “shadow” is supplanted by the “substance” (Colossians 2:17). Jesus elaborated in a conversation with a Samaritan woman in John chapter 4. He had just described the new Spirit-filled life, which is made possible by His good news. She asks Him to clarify where she should go to worship God. She presupposes that His answer will be one of two possible locations. He, of course, chooses neither. Instead He says, “A time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks” (John 4:21, 23).

The author of Hebrews explains, “Jesus has been found worthy of greater honor than Moses, just as the builder of a house has greater honor than the house itself...Christ is faithful as the Son over God’s house. And,” get this, “we are his house” (Hebrews 3:3, 6a). Peter says it like this, “As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:4-5). And Paul adds, “You are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit” (Ephesians 2:19-22). We get a prophetic look at Jesus' completed structure, made from “living stones,” in His revelation to John. “Come, I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb,” says John's angelic escort, “And he carried me away in the Spirit to a mountain great and high, and showed me the Holy City, Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God” (Revelation 21:9b-10). “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God’” (Revelation 21:3).

So what does all this talk about the structure Jesus is assembling have to do with our church buildings and the emphasis we typically place on them? Well, the key ideas that I take away from these passages are as follows: First off, God wants to dwell among His people, the Church! How awesome is that?! Secondly, and this is obvious but hugely important, Jesus builds the Church. Thirdly, the Church is not a brick and mortar building. It is comprised of “living stones,” who are pulled from the rubble and made suitable by the finished work of the Cornerstone. Jesus is the true temple, and it is only by the grace of God that we participate in the structure as an extension of His body. And finally, Jesus' Church is not confined to a building or tied to a geographic location. He means for us to fill the earth with His glory as we collectively declare and demonstrate His Gospel in everyday life. Yet the building-centric model of church often corrals and occupies the Church with its perpetual onsite programs and extensive overhead (measured in both time and resources). I've heard it rightly said that our buildings say “come” while our Jesus tells us to “go.”

I'm not saying the Church shouldn't gather. It's imperative that we do. I'm not even saying that churches shouldn't build worship centers. There is no biblical mandate or prohibition either way. It is documented that the First Century Church met in homes and public spaces, but, in fairness to the current model, there was nothing else available to them. And while he was in Ephesus, Paul seemed to have rented or borrowed a lecture hall for ministry purposes (Acts 19:9). Ultimately, if we become dogmatic about gathering exclusively in living rooms and coffee shops over traditional church buildings we have completely missed the point. Where we worship isn't the issue (to paraphrase Jesus' comments to the woman at the well). Furthermore, I would never want to jeopardize the positive elements currently found in the prevalent model with a mass exodus to nothing. There is a growing counter movement to the building-centric model, for example, that casts off all submission and structure in favor of an undefined and individualistic Christian anarchy of sorts. This is not the “progress” that I am suggesting. Whatever model we embrace, the Church is to be a family, a community, with accompanying obligations of accountability, submission, and service. Given some of the alternate models, I can understand why many Christians passionately defend a continued reliance on our church buildings and their accompanying programs. It's all many of us have known. Numerous people who pass through our doors meet Jesus, are often discipled, and can become genuine followers of Christ. And I certainly don't mean to disparage the numerous hours, resources, blood, sweat, and tears that untold American Christ-followers have poured into the current centralized model. It pains me to think that the questions I’m raising are often seen as most threatening and hurtful to those who are very invested in the current model—faithful brothers and sisters who love and serve Jesus’ Church with all that they are. But if we aim to be faithful representatives of our incarnational King, then we must be brave enough to question some of our arbitrary traditions. More than this, we must be willing to die to our preferences and preconceptions if need be.

The American Church is increasingly living in a post-Christian culture. Statistics show the number of our friends, co-workers, and neighbors who will never set foot in our buildings—regardless of how “current” or “relevant” we make them—is growing exponentially. We need to figure out how to take everything that's going right in the current model (declaration and demonstration of the Gospel: confession/repentance, baptisms, celebrating the last supper together, worship, teaching, discipleship/modeling) and move it into our neighborhoods, common areas, and places of business. It seems that most American Christians believe that faithfully attending and contributing to the weekly gathering(s) encompasses all or most of what it is to be an active member of a church. Our frustrated and exhausted pastors and elders may be preaching “go,” “love,” and “serve,” but the prevalent building-centric model is silently contradicting them with “come,” “sit,” and “spectate.” Or at best, “come and participate in all that goes into our Sunday gathering and midweek programs so that others can come, sit, and spectate.” The less than 10% of church members that typically answer the second invitation and dedicate more than 90% of the time and resources required to maintain the building and programs are often left with so little time or energy that they are unlikely to invite their Muslim neighbors over for dinner or to join a bowling league or book club with Gospel intentions. We have in many ways unintentionally crafted a system that leaves no time or energy for what we most want—what God most wants—to see: That is redemption and restoration, up close and in everyday life, in our neighborhoods and workplaces through the Gospel of Jesus Christ. If only we could place less emphasis on our gatherings and put more energy into our goings. We are not called to congregate in “sacred spaces.” We are called to be a sacred people who, like Jesus, bring the good news of the kingdom of God into the midst of a hurting and broken world. This is the nature and function of the house that Jesus built and is building. This is the sort of house that God will dwell in.