The Heart of God

Some postulate an aloof God who creates but does not empathize or engage with his creation. Albert Einstein, for example, seemed to subscribe to an impersonal divine architect. Naturalists such as Richard Dawkins scoff at the notion that a being who could construct such a vast and sophisticated universe would bother interacting with primitive little creatures such as ourselves. Even science fiction frequently imagines god-like beings that, in direct proportion to their increasing knowledge and abilities, eventually transcend emotion. It is assumed then that with infinite knowledge and power inevitably comes a detached, dispassionate, and merely logical perspective of things. The implication is clear: Emotion is thought to be the stuff of lower beings. It seems to me that the opposite is true. The relationship between knowledge/power and personhood/emotion should actually slide in the other direction. Dogs have personality and emotions—humans, even more so. Why should an infinitely superior being not have these same capacities, and even in greater abundance? Indeed, the God described in the Bible is more of a person than you or I. He is said to have an unfathomably nuanced emotional spectrum that is capable of noting, processing, appreciating—feeling—everything from a single fallen sparrow to a world ending supernova. Given this, there is no other way to know this extremely emotive and hyper-personal being apart from discovering his revealed heart.

The God of the Bible is incredibly passionate, creative, and relational. He is not always expedient or practical. He regularly indulges in the extravagance of poetry and beauty. His behavior is far from capricious, yet it may seem so in terms of mere efficiency. He is probably better understood as an artistic genius than a utilitarian engineer.

Human emotions are notoriously fickle. They are largely bound to numerous shifting internal and external factors. Consequently, it is not a flattering assessment to be characterized as an “emotional” person. God, however, is undeniably a highly emotional being. He feels things deeply, but he is always consistent. Contrary to the human experience, his emotional response to various things can be somewhat reliably predicted (insofar as he shares his heart with us). His emotions spring from who he is and they inform what he does.

Through page after page of Holy Scripture, God pours out his heart to whoever will listen. He utilizes numerous earthly analogies to convey the lavish affection he feels for his people and the heart-rending grief he experiences when they reject him. He explicitly likens his emotional devastation to a publicly humiliated spouse whose beloved has sexually betrayed them again and again. Though he is “slow to anger,” he describes his intense jealousy in light of the reasonable exclusivity expected by any husband or wife who is unwilling to share their spouse with another. He also compares himself to a father who humbly seeks to restore his wayward and ungrateful children. He readily and recklessly expresses himself in ways that leave him vulnerable to immense pain. He often references the most intimate human relationships to describe how he feels. He is not too proud to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Remove the emotional element of God, and one would have to agree with Dawkins' observation that an infinitely powerful being would have no interest in communing with finite beings such as us. Putting Dawkins' objection to bed, however, is as simple as watching a new parent with their infant child. A mother or father can stare for hours at their baby, captivated by every gurgle and slightest gesture. The infant is, of course, not a compelling conversationalist. They have nothing of any intellectual or practical value to contribute to the relationship. Essentially, they are more of a deficit than anything. And yet the parent is undaunted by the infant’s technical inferiority and is always eager to engage their child at whatever level they are capable. What transpires between the two cannot be expressed as a mathematical equation or understood in terms of mere reason. And yet it is intuitively understood by emotional creatures without explanation. It is a matter of the heart.

Dawkins' initial conclusion that a being capable of creating our universe would be completely beyond us—transcendent—is totally correct. We, as the infant, cannot very well go looking for him. He must peek his head over the edge of the crib, so to speak, if we are to see his face. It is the Christian claim that he has done just that and more.

After centuries of poetic correspondence (all of which must be seen as a father speaking “baby talk,” as there simply is no other way for an infinite being to converse with finite creatures), the unrequited author finally came in person. The creator became one of his creatures. Jesus, the 1st Century man that Christians claim is supernaturally the “exact imprint” of the transcendent God, spent his days on earth declaring and demonstrating the heart of God—a heart that is ultimately best seen in the great lengths he is willing to go to reclaim his rebel creation. After all, matters of the heart are not weighed in gold or silver but in spilled blood, sweat, and tears. It is in the elegance and horror of the cross that the pulsating heart of God, laid raw, is on display for all to see. He is not a God far off, and it is his heart that draws him near.

“The LORD is compassionate and merciful, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.” -Psalm 103:8

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). 

Resurrection

 

As of this writing, we’re closely approaching the annual celebration of the most significant date in human history: The day an outspoken, First Century Jewish man from Nazareth, who had been brutally murdered only 72 hours prior, stepped out of his own grave alive as ever and, save a few puncture holes, none the worse for wear. The importance of this event to the Christian faith—to all of humanity that ever lived or ever will live, to the entire cosmos—cannot be overemphasized. The Apostle Paul plainly states that if this man Jesus has not risen then those of us who follow him “are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Corinthians 15). Jesus himself hung all of his claims of being the promised Messiah who would usher in and reign over God’s eternal kingdom, “the resurrection and the life,” the mediator between God and humanity, with the divine authority to forgive sins, on his unique ability to pull off his own physical resurrection. He claimed it would be the authentication of his authority and therefore the complete vindication of all of his otherwise outlandish claims. Given the unmatched importance of this event, it’s unfortunate that there is often such a hazy understanding among contemporary Christ-followers of what actually transpired and how it changes everything.

The physicality of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection must not be overlooked. The facts surrounding these events reiterate how God views the physical world, which he once called “good,” and the humans he created to inhabit it. The implications of the resurrection, in particular, are also pivotal to understanding his endgame. Immediately following his resurrection, Jesus repeatedly authenticated the physical reality of what had happened by inviting his hesitant disciples to feel the marks in his hands and side and by sharing unusually lively postmortem meals with them. Make no mistake; the resurrected Christ was/is flesh and bone, a human as we were meant to be, and the first fruits and divine source of many more to come.

The hope of bodily resurrection has been long whispered by the ancients but only realized in the person of Jesus. The prior sparse examples of God raising the dead should not be confused with Jesus’ unprecedented resurrection. You may have noticed that Lazarus, whose soul was famously reunited with his once-dead mortal body, is no longer with us. He too must await the resurrection that is yet to come. Perhaps Job described our future hope of resurrection most clearly: “I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27).

Many of Jesus’ contemporaries scoffed at the suggestion of physical resurrection. Even Jewish culture was torn, with the Sadducees outright rejecting notions of supernatural intervention such as angels, miraculous healing, and—of course—resurrection. When Paul spoke at the Areopagus in Athens, we read how resurrection was the hardest part of the Gospel for a First Century Greek audience to swallow. Eventually, with the influx of Gentile believers, many Gnostic interpretations of core events started creeping into the early Church. Some of these misunderstandings were addressed by the remaining Apostles. John, for example, spoke against those in his day who were denying the authentic humanity of Jesus, going so far as to label them “antichrist.” Other heretical ideas stemming from Gnosticism were also vehemently refuted by Paul before his martyrdom.

Gnostics believe the physical world is inherently evil and of no value, while the unseen spiritual realm is good and therefore of infinite value. As a result, Gnostic-thinking Christians seek release or rescue from the physical world. At first glance, Scripture seems to reinforce the tenants of Gnosticism. Jesus said that his followers should disregard their basic physical needs (food, clothing, shelter, etc.), for example, and even “hate” their own lives in this world in favor of passionately pursuing an unseen Father and otherworldly kingdom. James said that anyone who loves the world makes himself an enemy of God. Paul expressed his deep desire to leave his corrupted body so that he could be present with the Lord. Old and New Covenant saints alike are described as exiles in a foreign land, eagerly awaiting a better country, a heavenly country. All of this sounds like music to a Gnostic’s ears.

Prevailing Gnostic interpretations of Scripture are too numerous and complex to exhaustively address here. The “world,” however, can refer to the corrupted kingdom of men, humanity in general, the physical planet, the cosmos, and so on. God can then simultaneously love the “world,” his divinely crafted creation, and hate the “world,” the evil systems of sinful humans that oppress and enslave. The Bible teaches that the Spirit of God breathed life into the physical world. So the spiritual is the source and the sustainer of the physical but never, as the Gnostics would have it, the supplanter.

Modern Gnostics are often exclusively concerned with “saving souls.” Not much thought, if any, is given to the Gospel's implications on the body and the world of matter. Environmental conservation efforts, for example, are sometimes seen as a “waste of time,” given that “God will be making a new heaven and earth anyway.” For the same reasons, caring for one’s physical body with proper diet and exercise may also seem pointless to a Gnostic-minded Christian.

We should see the promised new heavens and new earth in the same sense in which believers in Jesus become “new creations.” We wouldn’t—or shouldn’t—think to say that “because I am being made new, the current me (along with my thoughts and behavior) is of no importance.” That I will be eradicated to make room for a new version of me who will in fact not be me is a concept that is at odds with the biblical narrative. C.S. Lewis, in Mere Christianity, does an excellent job of describing how the process of dying to self and allowing Jesus to live through us in fact produces the opposite of what we might expect: It is only through this process of self denial that we discover who we were always meant to be in Christ—our true selves.

When a Christian speaks of going to “live with God in heaven forever” after they die (if their meaning of “heaven” is something like an ethereal spiritual realm), they are once again out of step with the story that the Bible is telling. That understanding of God’s endgame for humanity, the universe, and so forth is far more Gnostic than Christian.

The Bible refers to heaven as the place where God reigns in unveiled glory. We’re given awe-inspiring pictures of a throne room, unapproachable light, numerous angelic attendants, and endless worship. Throughout Scripture, this place is often poetically associated with the upper atmosphere or even a geographic location like “Mount Zion” or Jerusalem’s temple. In truth, heaven is better understood as a person than a place. The ancient Jews didn’t think their God literally lived in the sky or on some distant planet. They understood he was everywhere and that heaven was always just around the corner, so to speak, and could even peak through on occasion (Genesis 28:17, Ezekiel 1:1, 2 Kings 6:17). Genesis describes a time long ago when heaven and earth occupied the same space (N.T. Wright, in Simply Christian, discusses this concept of heaven and earth “interlocking” far better than I could hope to here). God never left. But our ability to perceive him, to experience his perfect reign and unveiled glory, was tragically inhibited by sin—a death of the worst kind.

Jesus, through his incarnation, death, and resurrection, brings heaven crashing back into earth like a tidal wave. The restorative work of Christ allows each of his followers, and the Church collective, to function as containers, or temples, of God, a place of sorts in which heaven and earth occupy the same space once again. This renewed connection to God through Jesus is the essence of eternal life (John 17:3), and the phenomenon of heaven incrementally intersecting with earth through Jesus is called the “kingdom of God.” His endgame then seems to involve the spiritual realm perfectly and completely coexisting with a cured physical universe as it was in the beginning. After all, he commands us to regularly pray for this very thing (Matthew 6:9-10).

Just as he left in flesh, Jesus promised that he will return to our world “in the same way” (Acts 1:11). His kingdom will come in fullness, the seamless reunification of heaven and earth, when the King is physically present. Evil will be permanently eradicated from his universe, and only what is good and pure, what is of him, will remain. At his command, human souls that have been transformed into his likeness by the finished work of Christ will be reunited with their resurrected, now-immortal, incorruptible bodies. He will dwell “with us” and we will see his face (Revelation 21:3, 22:4). God's endgame then is not so much to bring us to heaven as it is to bring heaven back to earth.

Those who persistently love their treason more than their Creator will—in accordance with their own unyielding wishes—experience a complete inability to perceive the ever-present and infinitely good God. Having rejected the Tree of Life, and now cast out of a universe that, even in its broken state, still echoed the Creator's goodness, they will tragically endure an eternal torment of such intensity that it is likened to being burned in a lake aflame, cast into deepest darkness and bone-grinding bitterness—beyond dead. “Depart from me” will be the last thing they hear. Tragically, the horrors of this existence cannot be overstated, yet it is a fate that all of humanity has justly earned.

Eternal life begins today when we trust in the finished work of Jesus and give ourselves over to his transformative work in our lives. It is immeasurably good to participate in his kingdom now and become conduits of heaven on earth as he reigns in our hearts and hands. Even better, though, is when our mortal body gives out and our soul is swept up into his presence where we experience his unveiled glory and perfect reign in heaven. But the best is yet to come—the hope of resurrection—when he brings heaven to a restored earth, reunites our soul and body (as humans were meant to exist), and once again walks with us in the garden.

Christ’s bodily resurrection is central to the Gospel. As is the future hope of our own bodily resurrection and that of the cosmos. The story that the Bible is telling is of a once-“good” physical world that has been tragically marred by sin and death but that is presently being restored through the work of Jesus. The physical world has been mortally wounded by corrupted flesh, so the cure must come from the spiritual realm, more specifically from heaven. The spiritual—the eternal Word of God—takes on flesh in order to restore flesh and, by extension, the rest of the physical world. Jesus' resurrection is a foretaste of his cosmic restoration project. He is making “all things new.” No doubt we'll all be surprised when he is finished. Happy Easter!

“Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?'” (John 11:25-26)

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. 

Taste and See...

Jesus identified the command to love our Maker with all that we are as the “greatest” of all God's commandments. In truth, I find it to be the most tragic of all His commandments. Only because there was a time when this commandment—and by extension, all other commandments—would be as unnecessary as an edict requiring humans to acknowledge that fire is hot and water is wet or that life is to be chosen over death. The first humans were crafted with the capacity to be captivated by His beauty. It seems they loved Him like they loved their next breath—like they loved life itself. We have since lost our taste for Him, the Tree of Life. Stumbling in the darkness, we have tasted of another tree, and in our broken state all we crave is ash and death. Frequently returning to the alternate tree, we gorge ourselves on “that which is not food” and are left in perpetual famine and want (Isaiah 55:2). Central to the Father's redemptive work in the world through Jesus then is the Spirit's restoration of our scorched palate. He renews our desire to feast on Him.

When God spoke the world into existence, He created a beautiful garden in which the first humans were meant to thrive. As image-bearers, we were made to be an extension of Him to the universe, a mirror radiating His goodness and glory and administering and celebrating His justice and virtue throughout His good world. At the center of the garden He placed two trees unlike the others. And so humanity was presented with a monumental choice from the beginning: “I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live” (Duet 30:19). God makes His desire for His creation abundantly clear, and yet, by His own sovereign will, He does not completely bypass human volition. The fruit of the first tree offered eternal life while the fruit of the other would forever infuse the eater with the forbidden knowledge of good and evil. As you probably already know, they foolishly forfeited their claim to the Tree of Life and instead grasped for the authority to define good and evil for themselves, a task for which they were—and we still are—hopelessly ill-equipped.

At this point, we must have a word about metaphor. You may recall how Jesus created quite a stir among His First Century followers when He claimed to be the “bread of life” come down from Heaven to be consumed by whosoever willed. The thought of cannibalizing their beloved leader was understandably grotesque. Most of His disciples walked away in disgust. Christ's meaning is debated still. Jesus' comparison of His body and blood to bread and wine was undoubtedly meant to be jarring. As we follow His metaphor, though, we will note that bread is a necessary and external source of life to the eater. It literally becomes a part of us as we digest it, empowering us and changing us from the inside. The bread is also unavoidably destroyed in the process. Jesus effectively described something otherworldly that we couldn't otherwise understand by using something that we do understand. His death, burial, and resurrection are objectively real, historical events with boundless implications. The symbolic explanation in no way obscures or robs the events of their meaning. It is Jesus' stories, in fact, that actually convey the true meaning of what He accomplished, which would otherwise be missed. Many fundamentalists see virtue in dogmatically adhering to a hyper-literal interpretation of all sacred scriptures. They may see an appeal to metaphor as the voice of the serpent who cunningly asked, “did God truly say...?” When in truth, it is the hyper-literalist who tragically misses Jesus' actual message in this instance.

I'm not suggesting that the book of Genesis should be exclusively understood as metaphor. While there are scriptural authors who the Spirit moved to consistently write in very poetic and hyperbolas styles, Genesis, like the gospels, is primarily written as a straight-forward, historical narrative (objectively chronicling real people, places, and events). Furthermore, recognizing Adam as a real human being who actually lived is arguably pivotal to understanding the necessity for the “new Adam.” Interestingly, though, Jesus frequently relies on metaphor when He is explaining the nature and function of the kingdom of God (He uses a lot of similes in particular: “the kingdom of God is like” such and such). In His revelation to the seven churches, He describes the full reunification of Heaven and Earth in a very symbolic way. He likens His people to a city and a beautiful bride. He presents Himself as a bridegroom, a lion, and a lamb and so on. Could it be that this early period of human history described in the first few chapters of Genesis, in which Heaven and Earth peacefully co-existed, is so foreign to us post-Eden folks that we can only now be told of it through metaphor? When I muse that Jesus was/is the Tree of Life, the fulness of God made incarnate and accessible to humans, spoken of in the Creation story, I'm not suggesting that He existed as an inanimate tree with magic fruit any more than I would suggest that Satan, a supernatural being, in the story is meant to be understood as a literal reptile. Satan is often likened to an ancient sea serpent, a dragon, a deceiver, and an angel of light elsewhere in the pages of holy scripture, and so we have little trouble identifying him in the story. I would argue that there are other passages that reveal Jesus as the Tree of Life, to whom our first parents lost access and instantly “died” as a result. In Jesus' depiction of paradise restored, complete with ample references to Eden, He claims, “Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city” (Revelation 22:14). In this passage, access to the “tree of life” and entrance into “the city” are inseparably linked. And if this weren't enough, Jesus claims the tree's leaves are for the “healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2). Jesus is truly Light, Life, the Door, the Rock, the Lion, the Lamb, the Word, the Alpha and the Omega, the Vine, the Truth, the Bread of Life, but He is not literally these things.

Whether the Tree of Life is a supernatural fruit tree which grants the eater physical immortality, or it is a metaphor for something, or someone, far greater which we could not otherwise understand, the central message of the fall must not be overlooked: The first humans tragically rejected God—their true source of sustenance—in favor of an existence apart from Him. “My people have committed two sins,” says the Lord, “They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water” (Jeremiah 2:13). We have all believed the lie that we can define and manage good and evil for ourselves and in so doing have chosen death over abundant Life. Still, He humbly beckons us back, “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare” (Isaiah 55:1-2). In His mercy, God has graciously brought the once-rejected Tree of Life to us. Through the work of His Spirit He has renewed our taste for its fruit. He invites us to feast, to delight in Him. If there is anything truly good, anything of pure joy, anything worthwhile in this broken world, it is merely a faint echo of Him. For He is the source of all goodness, creativity, justice, and beauty—LIFE itself.

“Taste and see that the LORD is good” (Psalm 34:8a). 

 

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.

Love your Neighbor

 So the last few years I've been trying something new—new for me, anyway. It started with a neighbor, or at least I think it did. It's sometimes hard to put your finger on the beginnings of the often long process of God's patient attempts to shift our hearts toward His. Perhaps there were many other moments He intended me to take note of, but I remember this one. We had a neighbor, a young single guy, who for three to four years lived right next door to us in our apartment complex. His door was literally a few feet from ours. I don't know his name. We would greet each other politely when we passed. One day on my way out the door, I saw him loading his furniture into a moving van. I think I stopped and asked the obvious, “are you moving?” I didn't really have much to say after that beyond a generic “good luck.” I didn't know him. I remember feeling like I had completely wasted the years that I had lived in such close proximity to this guy. I wasn't a good steward of the time or the space we shared or, most importantly, of the Gospel with which I had been entrusted. The whisper of the Spirit was not condemning, though. God was instead welcoming me to view my neighbors the way He does. He was inviting me to follow him into the terrifying and exciting realm of actively loving my neighbors, seeking to bless them however I could, and pursuing them the way He pursues me.

I quickly realized that before I could love my neighbors I would have to first meet them. This obvious initial step can be an Everest of an undertaking for an introvert such as myself. How exactly does one meet one's neighbors anyway? I had to think on it for awhile. Our first attempt to meet the neighbors came about near Halloween. I had been conspiring with the Holy Spirit for a few weeks to devise a plan to meet everyone in our complex. Finally, He gave me the idea of doing what we ended up calling “reverse trick-or-treating.” We bought a bunch of candy, dressed our seven-month old up in her cute little Disney's Stitch costume, had a quick family prayer, and off we went. I gotta tell you, it was terrifying. Just knocking on doors and talking to strangers is really tough for me. Having an adorable baby as your wingman definitely helps, though. Family, and particularly kids, can be awesome ice breakers. We introduced ourselves, passed out some candy, and let people know where we lived. No big deal. These initial introductions eventually lead to a weekly neighborhood BBQ and a growing community within our previously guarded apartment complex.

I wish I could tell you it was all an easy ride from anonymity to instant community—that we didn't have any obstacles or heartaches. Getting to know people, earning the right to peer into their lives, and becoming vulnerable by welcoming them into your life can be a messy business. There really isn't any other way to go about it, though. The good news of Jesus' incarnation is best delivered incarnate, face to face. If He can leave Heaven to become Immanuel, “God with us,” then we can cross the hall to love the folks in the next apartment. The first door that opened to us belonged to an older woman who was desperately afraid to leave her apartment. She was addicted to painkillers and had burned all bridges to her remaining family. It was into this darkness and despair that Jesus invited us to shine His light. She eventually came with us to our weekly church gatherings, and we gave her rides to the grocery store and her doctor's appointments. She had some profound emotional/psychological wounds. Sometimes she loved us, and sometimes she was inexplicably angry with us. To be frank, it was often an extremely taxing relationship. Even so, I am grateful that He trusted us with her.

There were many encouraging moments, new friends, and redemptive glimpses of the kingdom of God breaking through. One notable highpoint of our time at the apartment complex was meeting a young family who later became our good friends and ministry partners. They were really great at inviting people and helping us put on our neighborhood BBQ every week. They were kind of shy like us, introverts set in motion by the power of the Gospel. Just like God to intentionally use our weaknesses to emphasize His strength. They opened doors to a bunch of Spanish speaking and Filipino neighbors with whom they already had ties (their kids being in school activities together and such). I remember the husband later telling me that he had been crying out to God to show up in his life, to offer some hope, a way out of his addiction and depression. He saw our knock at the door as God's answer to his prayer. As he spoke, I remembered back to when God was stirring in my heart and calling me out of my comfort zone. It's a beautiful thing when He gives us a brief peek into the bigger picture.

I'd say the biggest factor in this whole journey toward loving my neighbor thing was the new perspective that God gave me. Instead of simply “doing my laundry,” for example, I started actively looking to meet people and start conversations in the communal laundry room. In my previous life, I had learned exactly how long the machines took at each stage of the process, and I would drop my clothes off only to return briefly when I needed to move them to the next machine. With my new outlook, however, I started bringing a book, so I could stay in the shared space and visit with some of my neighbors if the opportunity arose. Going to get the mail became a trek across my mission field, greeting neighbors by name, and learning to notice the heartbeat of the neighborhood. Just being outside where you can be seen and become known by your neighbors is a huge part of the process. I would often play with our daughter on a shared patch of grass outside our apartment where we had our BBQs. We went for a lot of walks around the complex and to nearby shops. Our everyday tasks, stuff we are already doing, have the potential to be conduits of the Gospel. These are mundane activities that can be utilized by God if we are willing to seek His kingdom first in all things—even while washing a load of smelly socks.

I'm excited about this next chapter in our new neighborhood. We've been renting a house for a little over a year now, and we're eager to get to know everyone. We've especially been praying about and on the lookout for some other believers living in our neighborhood who would be interested in partnering with us. We try to use holidays and hospitality to foster the initial introductions. We've had an awesome neighborhood Memorial Day BBQ and a Halloween costume party. My wife made some great banana bread for Christmas that we recently passed out as a family. I've also been frequenting a local coffee shop within walking distance of our place. Whenever I meet one of my neighbors, I write their name down in my notebook (my memory is pretty pathetic). My goal is to pray for them and hopefully remember their name the next time I see them. Even doing yard work can be a kingdom activity. While I'm raking the leaves or cutting the lawn I'm also observing the neighborhood and praying for the families I've met and asking God to facilitate introductions to those I've yet to meet. I've already met a few neighbors while working in the yard. If we set out to merely rake the leaves, then odds are that's all we'll accomplish.

Ultimately, meeting the neighbors and seeking to bless them is about more than just expanding our social circle. We currently have all the friends a couple of introverts could ever want. However, the heart of God compels us out of ourselves. He is a perfectly content community within Himself, and yet He makes space at His table and welcomes us wandering orphans into His family. This missional DNA is transmitted to His adopted children. Play-dates, Superbowl parties (even if you don't like football), BBQs, and neighborhood game nights become the highway on which the Gospel can be delivered. As His ambassadors, we are to both declare and demonstrate the good news of God's kingdom. So I try to learn the story of God well—to know what He is up to in the world and in my neighborhood. I'm convinced that the declaration happens best in our living rooms or over coffee, and the demonstration happens most effectively and authentically in our Gospel-centric, everyday lives. Community is the unassuming and organic means by which God frequently advances His kingdom, so we seek community with Gospel intentions. I wouldn't want the reader to conclude that we're even close to proficient at this exciting endeavor. We're still awkwardly trying to figure this new way of life out, but I'm happy to report that it's a genuine pleasure to love our neighbors. My longing to see redemption in our neighborhood and city—for His kingdom to come—has been an incremental gift from God. Furthermore, I find that my commitment to God's global mission grows in direct relationship to my commitment to the folks living next door to me. I'm inspired by good friends who have left the comfort of the U.S. to make their home in Thailand (They also gifted us with their BBQ before they left!). They pursue their Thai neighbors with the love of Jesus in simple and profound ways, faithfully obeying the command to love neighbor as self in a cross-cultural context. Wherever you live, I can assure you that there is profound brokenness behind every door on your street. Our innate hunger for Christ manifests in a myriad of different fallen ways that end in death. Depression, addiction, abuse, empty pursuits of pleasure and things, hurting and broken families dwell in darkness behind white picket fences and nicely manicured lawns, awaiting the good news that has miraculously found us on its way to them.

“For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: 'Love your neighbor as yourself'” (Galatians 5:14).