On Reaching for Dialogue: Revisiting Evangelism and Musings on Conversion Efforts

I advocate dialogue and ministry. In an earlier blog, I differentiated between ministry and evangelism. I didn't exactly say ministry was better than evangelism, but I thought it. My problems with evangelism are the ulterior motives and many of the methods associated with it. Even in the friendliest of situations, I don't like to think of someone being loving in order to persuade someone to a different belief system and/or life style, i.e., "convert."

Today, I realized I misjudged evangelism. I misjudged evangelism, because I was judging a great number of evangelicals and evangelists. I was judging those whose evangelism is like flattery. But, I mustn't confuse some expressions of evangelism for all expressions. (That's the trouble with inductive reasoning.)

Tonight I was thinking about the ever-ambiguous and most-beloved "dialogue." Dialogue is often thought of as an alternative to many evangelistic endeavors such as tracts, preaching on the sidewalk, apologetics, judging people, and corny questions ("If you knew that you would die today ..."). Essentially, it is conversation, but a conversation for mutual enrichment about ideas, opinions, values, ethics, worldviews, and ways of life among other things. To contrast, I don't think dialogue is just shooting bull or the breeze, although the delineation is hazy at best.

Note: dialogue is not to be confused with defending or discussing. If you simply talk about your presuppositions or go on the offense, you are not dialoguing. I am not suggesting we should go into every dialogue doubting everything, especially those things about which we are not talking. Rather, if you talk about the Bible, you must give your thoughts, hear the other persons thoughts, and weigh both of your thoughts with some healthy criticism that you have given and received. In the end, if you are not simply comfortable with the other person's view, then be uncomfortable with it and do not hold it. However, it probably isn't healthy to think you are unwavering. Faith is not a blind tenacity; it is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Don't let your convictions be uninformed.

In Christ in a Pluralistic Age, John Cobb, Jr. said dialogue should exist sans untouchables, which are those things you will not let go of, no matter what someone says or does. You may have your presuppositions, but your dialogue has a level of hypocrisy and insincerity if you won't dialogue about those presuppositions.

But what I have said is not so easy, is it? I thought about a few of my own "untouchables." Mostly, I thought about social justice and how I think Christianity is about making life more abundant, especially by improving this life for all. Lately--the past few years--I do not think I have entered any conversation about social justice and thought, Maybe Christianity isn't all about social justice. Maybe I can buy nice things and not think about the poor all the time. Maybe Jesus wants to bless me with money so I can spend it on myself, not others.

Oh how hypocritical he gets! How insincere his dialogue must have been! He ministers not and dialogues not--he evangelizes via apologetics!

Yes, I was evangelizing. I was evangelizing to Christians. When dialogue started, I wanted to persuade them to my views. I was borderline apologetic. I wanted to convert them, little by little and bit by bit.

Perhaps some places call for a preachy-sort of evangelism. The pulpit is one of those places. Some lectures. Some Sunday school lessons. Essays. Maybe even some blogs, although I'm not completely convinced. But in dialogue, I do not think preachy evangelism and apologetics are good ideas--although so hard to avoid.

This sort of dialogue is not pluralism, by the way, although it certainly leaves room for pluralism. A difference exists between trying to convert someone and wanting someone to "convert" to your views and ways. I can hope people will be attracted to social justice as I present it in story, proposition, and action, but I do not need to replace love with apologetics of any kind or for any product.

And now to repeat what I've said with a few aphorisms:
You can think you are right without forcing it on someone.
You can hope they concede to your point without trying to convince them.

Note: I suppose I've had a struggle with the thoughts in this blog all week, at least. See my last blog to see how I was trying to process and balance hypocrisy, conversion, judgment, and dialogue this past Sunday.

Superseding Christianity & Musings on Dialogue Methodology

In the following blog, I err by being judgmental. If you start reading, please continue to the end, where I try to keep my judgment in check. The following represents a man processing information, emotion, and spirit.

Dr. Livingston, I presume?

As many of my blogs begin, this one was birthed by Sunday school, my ever-faithful midwife. This week we began Sunday school with a quick recap of last week. Last week, we talked about how our church congregation--as an "institution"--helps the community and each other, especially in these hard economic times. Interest in the class exists to find an innovative way to help our "walk-in ministry" somehow, but we haven't delineated how just yet.

After that discussion, I had prepared a few things to look at in the Bible, most involving a recurring use of "living" as a metaphoric descriptor: Living bread (or bread of life), living water, living sacrifice, living stone.

We started with "living sacrifice" from Romans 12. This passage was the one that prompted me to investigate other examples of the "living" adjective. Really, the adjective became a lot less interesting when investigated, although it packs a lot of meaning.

"Living" simply contrasts with something that is neither dead nor nonliving. It is, well, alive. Sacrifices aren't so much alive. They might start out alive, but they die, because their life has been sacrificed. Sacrifices sacrifice life. A living sacrifice turns out not only to give up life, but to remain alive.

We read the rest of chapter 12, too. It describes some ways a way to be "a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God." We started to talk about how this list is hard to comprehend today. Specifically, someone mentioned giving generously (or cheerfully; v. 8), sharing with others, and opening your home to strangers (v. 13).

I mentioned Shane Claiborne's book, about how he and I mentioned Shane Claiborne's book, about how he and the Simple Way have some really great ideas on how these ideas really work. And not only work, but work safely. And work even if you have a spouse and kids. Shane is single, but people in his "church," the Simple Way, have kids (those in the Simple Way might not call their group a church, that is my word).

I think we should help people pay for their prescription medicines, but if we stop there, then we might as well stop helping period. If we're Christians, then we have disgraced the cross and might as well stop pretending to carry one around.

Living.
Sacrifice.
Living sacrifice.

Yes, being friendly to strangers can be dangerous. Not living in a so-called "good neighborhood" could be dangerous for you, your spouse, and your kid(s). Could be. Sometimes. Not nearly as often as you think. Especially if you give yourself to the community. Friendship makes safe so many dangerous situations.

I know of this one parent who purposely sent their kid to a "could-be" dangerous situation. Turns out things went pretty well for about 33 years. After 33 years, this son was put on a cross and died. I won't say his death was "worth" it, because good does not redeem evil. But, good forgives evil and people are redeemed, for sometimes they don't fully comprehend what they are doing--nobody taught them about what they were doing.

And then we read 1 Peter 2. In this bit, we read about living stones. Stones, like sacrifices, are not alive. Stones, unlike sacrifices, are not dead; they are nonliving. 1 Peter wants people to be living stones so they can become a whole building--a spiritual house, with priests who can "offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God." The stones are living and the house is not physical. It is a house that can move and do things--like the glory of God in Ezekiel.

Superseding Christianity

Sometimes people look back at Second Temple Judaism--the Israelite religion of Jesus' time--and think the temple and the religion surrounding it was dead. I wasn't there, I won't judge. But whatever you believe, please be aware that current-day Judaism is not Second Temple Judaism. If you believe the Israelite religion in the first century CE was dead, know that you need to know more about current-day Judaism before you can make the same accusation.

And instead of pointing your finger at Judaism, look around you. Did God really choose Christianity to be the living stones?

Today I was disillusioned. I looked around me in Sunday school and saw a building made with nonliving material, a building that makes people come to it instead of going to people. It was a building where people came to put their belief into action--dead action.

Dead action is what you have when you turn the AC on ridiculously high to accommodate your temperature comfort based on the ridiculous amount of clothes you wear during the summer--clothes that could help people in job interviews, clothes you only wear on Sundays, clothes you do not need, because your closet is bulging.

Dead action is when your Eucharist--the Lord's Supper--is coffee and donuts with family at the expense of sharing a meal with people who need friends. There is nothing wrong with food with family and friends, unless it takes the place of helping people. An ancient church leader, Basil, said:

When someone strips a man of his clothes, we call him a thief. And one who might clothe the naked and does not--should not he be given the same name? The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat in your wardrobe belongs to the naked; the shoes you let rot belong to the barefoot; the money in your vaults belongs to the destitute."

We would be much more willing to help people if we started to get to know who needed help. And as friendships blossomed, loneliness wouldn't be a growing issue in the church.

I'm only 25, I haven't seen every the community inside and around every church building in the world. But, I've been involved in more churches than some twice my age (for better or worse). From what I can tell, Christianity has superseded nothing. If it has, then it needs to be superseded, if it hasn't already.

One of these days I hope to be part of that supersession, and a prophet calling people towards it. I like to think I am heeding the call of prophets, but I know I'm not perfect.

Adding Dialogue to Judgment--Nothing is Untouchable

A lot boils down to interpretation. I think God modeled humanity in Jesus as Christ. I think Jesus shared time and resources with the poor--people who behaved in ways he may not have approved of. People who were sick. People who were lame. People who may not have been the best conversation partners. People who slept around. People who likely stole, because the economic situation surrounding them forced them into poverty.

Jesus loved those people. Jesus fed those people. One time, Jesus fed those people by asking a young boy to give up his meal. Jesus didn't use children as an excuse not to love people.

That is the Jesus I know. Others know a Jesus who wants you to give money and time to a church you ask to serve you. You get something, the church gets something, the community gets a little.

I am frustrated and harsh. So many good people worship a Jesus I don't see. They are good in ways I may never see. And I need them, because they do things I don't do. They love in ways I don't love. They minister in ways I do not minister. And we worship together. I don't agree with them and I think they are wrong about many things. They don't agree with me and the think I am wrong about many things. We need to continue in dialogue, so we can mutually benefit each other.

And one of these days, I hope they will see that their actions are dead and their building is not living. And then we can worship side-by-side in service, not in a service. But, as a good adherent of dialogue, I might see the error of my ways and join them by becoming a member of a church building. I doubt it, but it is possible. In dialogue, any change is possible.

Get Angry!

I'm reading this great book by Shane Claiborne called, Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. Today he quoted Kaj Munk, a man killed by the Gestapo in 1944. Before he died, he said Christians need some "holy rage":

"The ability to rage when justice lies prostrate on the streets, and when the lie rages across the face of the earth ... a holy anger about the things that are wrong in the world."

I agree with him. People who follow Christ need to get angry. And we need to learn how to handle anger, because we aren't going to get far if people get angry and leave the Church.

But I can't figure out exactly why we aren't getting angry. But I know what makes me mad, which is why I plan to always be involved with people in the church somehow, being angry, making people angry, and quenching the thirst of my rage by blessing others with the blessings I receive from God: abundant life in this life [*].

There's a lot going on to get angry about. These things are not petty doctrines and maybe not doctrines at all. They aren't whether or not you believe what I believe. They aren't music. They aren't fashion or "Sunday dress". They aren't what time you meet or whether or not you have a greeting time between Sunday school and church.

No, there are things not just more important than these things, but things that are important period:

"To rage against the ravaging of God's earth, and the destruction of God's world. To rage when little children must die of hunger, when the tables of the rich are sagging with food. To rage at the senseless killing of so many, and against the madness of militaries. to rage at the lie that calls the threat of death and the strategy of destruction peace. To rage against complacency. To restlessly seek that recklessness that will challenge and seek to change human history until it conforms to the norms of the Kingdom of God. And remember the signs of the Christian Church have been the Lion, the Lamb, the Dove, and the Fish ... but never the chameleon."

But still, everything you just read is abstract. Sometimes we need to put a face on the evil before we can get mad. We need to not only see our own tables full, but we need to see and learn to love the poor and the rich, the oppressed and the oppressor.

It is hard to get out of cushy lives and travel to some place that could be dangerous for us or our children. Unfortunately, we always get angry too late. Sometimes it is too late because the safety we loved has been taken away. But even if it isn't our safety taken away, it is the safety or the life of someone else that has gone.

It is too late for some. That is, we can't help everyone if we get angry right now. But if we get angry now, it won't be too late for others.

I think I might like you when you're angry.

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[*] Normally I would also say, "and the next," but I'm beginning to deconstruct this life and the next life in mind. Perhaps you'll read about it in the future. For now, you can add "and the next," because you and I mean similar enough things by it. Also don't start thinking I want to be silly and make people angry about silly things in tacky ways. I'm not talking about anger for the sake of anger. Read on, I think you'll catch my drift if you haven't already.

Praise, Flattery, Ministry, and Evangelism

This morning in church, the preacher asked about the difference between flattery and praise. He distinguished the two mainly by saying flattery wants something from the flattered--it has an ulterior method, whereas you ask nothing from the person you praise.

I suppose I knew of this distinction. It is quite obvious. When I heard about it in church, I was able to see a similar nuance between ministry and evangelism. Evangelism asks something of the evangelized, whereas ministry seeks to help people.

Set next to praise/flattery, we can see ministry/evangelism in a new light.

A Developing Poem: Finding Meaning in My Nana

I only became aware this winter that you cannot bury people in Maine during the winter. It makes sense. If the ground isn't frozen, the snow covers the plots. So, when my nana fell asleep this winter, no service was held. Instead, the service was planned for this Saturday, to ensure those from far away could make plans to come.

I was asked if I would like to write something for the service. I wrote the following, but I don't find it appropriate for this sort of service. It expresses my love and mourning for her, but I figure these sorts of things are supposed to be more specific, focusing on certain aspects of her life, citing memories and stories. But I think in the abstract.

Instead of having this read, I will play my saxophone. I will play, "There's Just Something About That Name." I chose this song, because it always reminds me of her. When I first visited her in Arizona--maybe 10 years ago, now--I brought my flute. She asked me if I could play that song. I found out I could ... or I at least came close. Ever since, the song has reminded me of her.

I also think about her when I hear the song, "In My Heart There Rings a Melody," because she told me how my aunt Melody used to think that song was about her.

And without further ado, another thing I wrote concerning my nana, Shirley Mae Grant.

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Within the past year or so, I wrote a poem. It isn't anything special as far as great poetry goes, but it has become very meaningful to me as I continue to work with it and as it continues to work with me. As many of you know, my nana wrote a lot of poems and songs. She always encouraged art and creativity, seeing it as the direct movement of God's Spirit. I thought it appropriate to share with you my poem and the meaning it has taken in light of my nana's life and death.

I wrote the poem completely in Latin, which was pretty tricky, since I don't know Latin. Let's read it and then take it word by word and line by line, discovering what this poem can mean for us now as we continue to mourn and celebrate Shirley Mae Grant.

Tenebrae.
Lacrimosa.
Maranatha.
Requiem.

Lacrimosa.
Maranatha.
Amen.

Tenebrae means darkness. I added this word to the beginning of my poem this past Easter after being impressed by the word during a very traditional service at the church I attend in North Carolina. The service is called "tenebrae," because it consists of a symbolic, methodical extinguishing of candles. The service reminds us of the dark emotions associated with the death of Jesus, which helps us celebrate his resurrection.

Tenebrae reminisces of the darkness from all our sins and struggles, it conjures emotions for everyday losses and experiences with a traditional, church background to connote the darkness of mourning while holding us in the reverence of honoring the dead and anticipating resurrection with an anticipation held at bey by the darkness.

And so the lacrimosa sets in--tears. I discovered this word from Mozart's famous Requiem. A requiem, meaning rest, is a service for those who have fallen asleep and many composers set the service to music. One part of this song is entitled the Lacrimosa:

Tearful that day,
on which will rise from ashes
guilty man for judgment.
So have mercy, O Lord, on this man.
Compassionate Lord Jesus,
grant them rest. Amen.

The tears shed in the darkness slide down our cheeks for God, creation, ourselves, and our losses. As our eyes cry tears, our lips cry "maranatha!", a word entreating our Lord to come and dwell with us in the midst of our problems.

But, just as when our Lord had come in Jesus, we, like him, experience requiem--the rest of death. Although I wrote the poem before my nana's death, I read our experience into it: in the darkness of Shirley's struggle, we shed tears, cried to see Jesus come in healing, but are now here because of her requiem.

And here the first stanza ends, because we have exposed a cycle of loss: the darkness, the tears, the praying, and the rest--resting in the loss of death or in the Sabbath of a prayer fulfilled.

If the requiem of that stanza is not your rest from this life, then the cycle will repeat from time to time. Eventually, your end will come and you will move on to the next stanza, which begins with echoes of the first, for it begins with the lacrimosa, that tearful day on which we will rise from the ashes and meet our compassionate Lord Jesus. Our tears, of course, will no longer be sad. And the cry from our lips will not be one uttered out of despair, but rather celebration. Maranatha is not always a prayer for God to come, but also an exclamation that our Lord has come.

And another cycle has completed, shorter than the first, but cycling perpetually throughout eternity. In order to suggest this ending without ending, I stepped outside of Latin and used a Hebrew word, but a Hebrew word that sounds more or less the same in Hebrew as it does in Latin and English.

So be it.

Amen.

Floundering on the Firm Foundation: Exploring the Relations of Faith, Certainty, and Doubt

On the radio the other day, I heard a commercial for a church. It was talking about bringing Christianity into the 21st century. It asked the listener to take a "leap of doubt" and come to their church, a church that prizes questions over answers.

In church the other day, someone said something to the following effect: "Doubt isn't the opposite of faith, certainty is." I don't remember them saying it, but a friend did and he asked me what I thought about it. I told him I couldn't agree right away, but neither I could disagree immediately. I told him a few of us should all write about the idea, since it is intriguing enough. Here are my thoughts on that writing prompt.

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I think neither certainty nor doubt are the opposite of faith, but still recognize the faith/certainty and faith/doubt binaries. Binaries do not mean opposite, but rather difference and privilege.

Faith, certainty, and doubt are all similar, otherwise the binary would be foolish, along the lines of faith/cat. And as I often maintain, most binaries deconstruct. As of now, I believe deconstruction says the members of a binary have hazy distinctions at best. To better explain this relationship, think of the mountains, the foothills, and a flatland (I'm borrowing this example from someone else). Where do the mountains end and the piedmont begin? Mountainous areas are different than the piedmont, and the flat areas, but you can't draw a boundary because the distinctions are amorphous and overlapping. There are areas that could be the mountains and/or the piedmont, the piedmont and/or the flatlands.

The same occurs with faith/certainty and faith/doubt. Faith is not certainty and not doubt, most of the time. Sometimes the boundaries are amorphous and overlapping. Consider the biblical texts.

Peter walked on water, but "when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened and beg[an] to sink" (Matt. 14:30). After Jesus saves him from sinking, he asks Peter: "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" (Matt. 14:31). In this instance we can see some nuance between faith and doubt in regards to confidence, certainty, and belief. Peter lacked certainty concerning his ability to walk on the water or God's ability to keep him on the water. Or, perhaps he was more confident in the power of the wind than the power of his faith or the faith of Jesus. He doubted. Peter did not lack faith, though. I think it takes a large amount of faith and certainty to try to walk on water, let alone during a wind storm on the Sea of Galilee. Amidst his faith and certainty, a sinking doubt existed.

Another time Jesus scoffs at a man in Mark who asked Jesus to do something if he was able to. "If you are able?" responded Jesus, "All things can be done for the one who believes" (Mk. 9:22-23). The man, "immediately ... called out, 'I believe; help my unbelief!'" (Mk. 9:24). This passage is probably the poster child for doubt as a virtue. However, Jesus leaves the man's statement without judgment. We might assume Jesus approved, since he completed the requested exorcism. But how do we know the belief or unbelief of that man had anything to do with the exorcism? Was Jesus talking about his belief or the belief of the man? Sometimes Jesus' miracles seemed to be based on the faith of the receiver, whereas other times it was solely Jesus' faith. The end of this story helps little. The disciples wonder why they couldn't exorcise the demon and Jesus tells them some can only come out by prayer, which we didn't see Jesus do for the exorcism. Jesus starts out preferring the certainty side of faith, but in the end, this story again speaks to faith as different from certainty and doubt.

A number of stories in the gospels speak of faith without doubt, a faith that can wither a fig tree or move a mountain. These verses--not to mention the infamous opening lines of James--seem to evoke an affinity between faith and certainty as much as they explicitly condemn doubt and the doubter, "who is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind" (Jas. 1:6). But why should we assume faith should always be without doubt? Many traditions have latched onto these passages as the dominant understanding of faith, painting pictures of faith as certainty, or, at least, nothing like doubt, which misses the beauty of the nuances between these ideas.

Then why did Jesus struggle in prayer in the garden? Why did Jesus ask for the cup to pass? It certainly seems like Jesus had a great faith that his death and resurrection were God's plan before he prayed in the garden. If faith is certainty, then Jesus was foolish to pray the prayers of Matthew 26:39 and 42. If Jesus had a faith of certainty that the best thing was crucifixion, then his prayer was not heartfelt or meaningful, and "words without thoughts, never to heaven go" (Hamlet). Perhaps in his humanity Jesus doubted his understanding of the divine plan, but I doubt you can separate Jesus' humanity and divinity in such a way. Did Jesus doubt God had planned on the best possible situation? Our text does not say, "Jesus' doubted," but it reflects the doubt of our savior.

Outside of Jesus, Abraham is the quintessential knight of faith. If you're going to bind your son and sacrifice him on an altar, you better be certain. Yet like Jesus, Abraham had some doubts about some of God's plan. "Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked" asked Abraham, "suppose there are fifty righteous within the city; will you indeeed sweep it away and not spare the place for the sake of the fifty righteous who are in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked ... far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth deal justly?" (Gen. 18:23-25). Here, Abraham either doubted God or Abraham's understanding of God. Both kinds of doubts are the ones we think of in regards to the faith/doubt binary, either we doubt something about God or we doubt a personal revelation from God. We doubt whether we can discern it right. We doubt if it was really what God said. Like Abraham. Like Moses.

The other day in class, one of my colleagues expressed his fear of being one of the goats of Matthew 25. Dr. Berry started to talk about the anxiety of this sort of doubt and he said, "I'd rather be nervous than have no nerves at all." The reality of sin in our lives should always conjure up a healthy dose of doubt in our faith. As long as I am a saint that sins--as long as "I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate" (Rom. 7:15)--then I will realize I am flawed and leave room for doubting my ability to interpret the Spirit's influence in my life.

Faith is neither certainty, nor doubt. Rather, it is better characterized as sometimes having the likeness of either certainty or doubt, as well as assurance, hope, and conviction. ["Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (Heb. 11:1).]

I'm not about to tell people to take a leap of doubt. Doubt is no more a virtue than certainty. Some situations call for a faith including more certainty and others for a faith sort of resembles doubt. A faith-like-certainty can be hard to acquire, whereas a faith-like-doubt is hard to be comfortable with.

A trouble lies in getting the right faith in the right spot. There are areas of my life where I want to be more certain than I am. Some of these areas should have more certainty, while some of them need the doubt that makes many of us--including me--uncomfortable. Lately, I've focused on the doubting side of faith, the faith that feels like floundering. It is never fun to feel like a fish out of water. I want confirmation of the things I do in faith, but I need to let faith be its own assurance, especially since circumstances do not determine the will of God. I'm not certain and perhaps a lot of my faith should look a lot more like certainty, but it doesn't change the fact that I am a man of faith. And of that, I am certain.

Again-and-Again-and-Again (Preached Version)

Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night and said, "Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him."

In reply Jesus declared, "I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again."

"How can a man be born when he is old?" Nicodemus asked. "Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb to be born!"

Jesus answered, "I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, 'You must be born again.' The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." John 3:1-8

We are a storytelling people and many of the stories we tell are tales of origin. We are interested in our past--which means not just what we've experienced, but what those before us experienced. We tell these tales of personal and corporate past so we can better understand our current selves, an understanding based in weaving together the tales of the past with stories of future possibilities. Is it any wonder we are obsessed with knowing where people are from or where they are going? The tales of past are the roots of our identification--who we are--while the stories of possibility are how we want to identify ourselves and others.

Creation and "Beginninglessnes"

Let's talk about our corporate religious origins, so we can better understand our place today, and where we want to go from here.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day. Genesis 1:1-5

Let me be honest with you. I have a hard time conceiving of "the beginning." I can handle thinking about God being involved in starting what we know as existence. But what happened before then? Who created God? Who created what created God? Who created what created that which created God? I would ask more questions if I were grammatically advanced enough to construct more sentences like that.

I was watching Escape from the Planet of the Apes recently and I heard a story I find very apropos. A man shows a painting of a landscape.

He says the painter noticed something missing in his painting, though: the artist painting the picture. So the artist painted another picture of the landscape that included the artist painting the landscape. But the artist again noticed something missing, and it was still the artist painting the artist painting the landscape. So he painted a third picture ...

and a fourth picture ...

and so on going to infinity.

When I think about the beginning in Genesis, I think about this infinite regression, about God having to constantly paint pictures in which God is painting the picture. And if God is always re-painting, has God ever been not painting? Is God still painting?

Somebody once asked St. Augustine a similar question: "What was God doing before God created time?" Augustine deigned God was preparing hells for people who ask such silly questions. Funny answer, but not helpful. God must have been doing something before "the beginning" in question. God must have been creating things other than the heavens and earth--you know, preparing things for future creations. Like, before God could speak something into creation, God had to create language and give language the ability to create things. And after creating language, God have to give words meanings.

In effect, before God could say:

God had to say, "let the word "let" mean "to allow." Of course, God wouldn't be speaking English and maybe not even Hebrew. Regardless, even before that sentence, God had to step back and would need to define every word used in that definition. And before that ...

well, you get the point: infinite regression, Planet of the Apes, a beginning before the beginning. We keep having to step back and see another picture of God drawing the picture.

In trying to figure out where something like language actually began, you'll turn up about as much as you will trying to delineate North Carolina geography. At our East, we have the flat coast. Further towards the middle, we find the piedmont, and the mountains are in the west. The mountains are distinct from our coast, but you couldn't draw a line where one started and the other ended.

Likewise language doesn't exactly have a beginning; it was not created--whatever that implies. And beginninglessness makes it difficult for us to understand our past and our origins, because we're used to everything having a beginning.

And if language doesn't have a beginning and God used language to create, then we don't have a beginning either, which makes sense in its nonsensicalness. Let me explain.

I was born, but birth wasn't my beginning. Before birth, I developed in the womb. Before development I was conceived. Before conception in the body, I was conceived of in my mother's mind, who told me she always wanted two kids (me being her second). And before she could even conceive of me, all kinds of environmental, psychological, and relational influences interacted with the woman who is now my mother, just like it did with my father. And they had to be born and conceived, too. I am not just a product of my time and my parents and their time; I am also a product of my parents' parents and their time, and so on and so forth (or, so back) until we reach the origins of humanity and then the origins of the earth and then we're talking about the beginning and language and the beginning before the beginning. So, although each of us was born, we have no starting point other than God--our Alpha and Omega (Rev. 21:6).

The Blessing of Babel

To better understand the significance of beginninglessness for our present, let's look at the story of language's development according to Genesis.

Even without a proper starting point, the story continues today--it has a past, present, and future. As the story goes, Yahweh once saw a bunch of people all speaking one language. They were building a tower in order to make a name for themselves. They wanted to be unified, and God said they could do anything, since they all spoke the same language.

I can't help but wonder if Yahweh was a little sarcastic when expressing worry about those people and their tower. Could they really do anything just because they could speak the same language? I've never known language to be perfect. I speak the same language as a lot of people, but I still misunderstand them often. Any of you in any sort of relationship know exactly what I'm talking about, how one word or sentence can mean something completely different to the person who hears you. Even before language had been officially "confused," it was still confusing.

On the one hand, we definitely communicate more effectively with people who speak the same language we do. On the other hand, I still hear a hint of sarcasm when Yahweh talks about descending to the people, or rather, condescending to them.

In Genesis 11:7, God says, "come, let us go down, and confuse their
language, so they will not understand one another's speech." And after that condescension, Yahweh makes language something new: "Let people use different words to mean the same thing and similar words to mean different things," which is basically how language worked anyways, but Yahweh magnified the confusion by creating "new" languages.

If you've been listening, you'll notice I just said Yahweh created languages, even though, earlier, I said language could not be created. I could distinguish between a language and language in general, which would be a fine distinction. But here's what really matters: God took what the people were speaking--(uncreated) language--and made it new, in effect, the story says God created or "recreated" language at Babel.

And this whole "new language thing,"not such a bad idea, actually. Yahweh blessed humanity at Babel. Just think of all the positive consequences of heaven condescending to the tower: new literature, poetry and philosophy; the beauty and wonder of translation; and a new pursuit of community amidst differences.

But even with all these new blessings, I bet it was easy to scorn the blessing of Babel. I can imagine it would be easy for these post-Babel persons to think about how nice it was in the good ol' days when everyone spoke the same language, even though we know they weren't always understood. New things come with pros and cons. It's often easiest to think of the pros when you're reflecting on the past and the cons when you're in the middle of experiencing.

As with language's beginninglessness, so with us. When we are reborn, we face wonderful grace and new troubles. Amidst the new troubles, it is hard not to look back and think how nice it used to be, despite the current grace.

No Turning Back

With some understanding of beginninglessness and rebirth, let me tell another story from our religious past so we can think more about handling the newness of rebirth, cutting the metaphorical umbilical cord.

As the story goes, Lot is told to take his family and flee from a horrible place before it is destroyed. Just so happens that horrible place was their home, Sodom. Horrible or not, it was their home. How can you just up and flee your home? They didn't have time to pack, get a U-haul, and say goodbye to people; they didn't move, they fled. Sure, most of the people in town just did some pretty horrible things, but I'm sure there were other things to make the sweetness of leaving a little bitter. You know, the dog loved the backyard; there was a pretty good library; Lot's job paid pretty well and had nice benefits.

But Lot and his family were asked to leave immediately without looking back. To leave their home and all their possessions. To start afresh somewhere new, with no real direction, just a command to flee and start over, somehow. A fresh start. A rebirth.

Lot's wife looked back and then became a pillar of salt.

Lot pled to remain near his home, so he wouldn't have to go too far away. His request was granted and he settled his remaining, non-mineral family members in a nearby, small town.

We can't completely relate to Lot's story. We've never been in his or his family's shoes, thank God. But, I've had a very literal call to leave home and start new somewhere else. I've had that one a few times, actually, and I am already interacting with that call concerning the next few years of my life. When negotiating that first call, I learned to understand Lot's desire not to go far. My request wasn't granted, though, and I ended up on the coast of Florida. The weather certainly made the leaving a little bit better. After that move and again after my move to Boiling Springs, I quickly understood Lot's wife. I still look back and wonder what could have been had I gone to college in Maine or if I became a lobster-fisherman like my dad.

In a sense, part of my story is the story of Lot and his wife. Because of my experience, I can understand some reluctance when asked to leave, some not wanting to go so far away, some looking back. I'm sure some of you can relate to Lot's family similarly, or perhaps in a different way if you moved around a lot as a child.

But even if you've never gone far from home, you can still relate to Lot's family. You could be like my dad, who has always lived in Friendship, ME--over 50 years in the same small town. God doesn't ask all of us to leave home in the same way, but eventually we are asked to leave. Eventually, we become different than we used to be, leaving a metaphorical home. For my dad, he turned from a life of anger and alcohol--a life he learned in part from his father and the town that reared him--he turned from that life to the Christ he saw and loved in my mother.

Lot's story is my dad's story. It is my story. It is your story. It is our story. We are all asked to leave home somehow. To be recreated. Reborn. Made new.

No turning back.

All things considered, I think Lot's wife made a better decision than Lot. Lot apparently didn't look back. Lot said he wanted to go little Zoar, because he was old and Zoar was close and small. I figure he wanted to go to a small place for reasons other than proximity. I bet he figured it wouldn't have the problems big cities like Sodom and Gomorah would have. Small towns don't have any problems, right?

In a small town, Lot would have a great opportunity to be the same person he was in Sodom, just in a different place. A new setting doesn't mean a new person. A new setting doesn't guarantee a new beginning. Lot's new groove could soon turn into the same ol' groove. Lot would take new wine and put it into an old wineskin. He would attempt rebirth the way Nicodemus understood it: by climbing back into his mother's womb.

Given the choice between Lot and Lot's unfortunately anonymous wife, I'll choose the pillar of salt. We can read Lot's wife in light of other stories, stories of rebirth and stories that ask us to be the salt of the earth. Let's learn from Lot's wife not to look back, but, friends, to believe the Good News: in Jesus Christ we are forgiven. She looked back and her old self died. Her newness became salt. And when our old selves die we are resurrected. We continue as the salt of the earth--born again to preserve this life in the face of death and adversity, to preserve this life for all, to become God's tools for assuaging the groaning of this earth and for making all things new--to witness and be involved in the transformation from this life to the next.

Making All Things New

Now we can start weaving the tales of our past with stories of our future possibilities--where oldness meets newness in the present.

In Revelation, we read: "Behold, I am making all things new" (21:5). That proclamation is a persistent prophecy. It is true even after it has been fulfilled. God isn't going to make everything new and then stop. So, after you've been born again, you are still a part of all things and, hence, you will be made new again.

And again.

And again.

After we receive this newness, after being "recreated," being born again--whatever you want to call it--it will happen again. We can't rightly flee damnation by living in Zoar. Our newness does not mesh with our oldness. We can't put the new wine into the old wineskin. We can't get find a way back in the womb.

We can't orchestrate our own new beginnings, because we can only comprehend our beginning at birth. God understands infinite regression, and can continually give us new beginnings. And God does just that: makes us new again-and-again-and-again.

Since this is true for all of us, we learn something great from our corporate origin. It is a truth I love to express in the words of a fabulous group of four young men: "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together." Similar to the mysterious unity of the trinity, we are all one (cf. John 17:22-23)--whether we like it or not. And friends, believe you me, we do not like to recognize our unity, because it means we are Nazis and Jews, the doers and receivers of genocide, the rich and poor, the prostitute, the drug dealer, the homosexual, the straight, the raped child who hasn't eaten for weeks, and the pedophile grown fat from meat and wine. We are the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned. And we are also the people who refuse food, drink, friendship, clothes, comfort, and support to those who need it (cf. Matthew 25). And with this knowledge, we discover that as long as one human suffers, we all suffer. We share pain, whether we completely feel and realize it or not.

Fortunately, we have Yahweh who works with us to eliminate this suffering by making new things around us and in us. We all become new in different ways and to different degrees. Sometimes God works little things in us and sometimes we are made completely and utterly new.

In becoming new, we leave our idols and never turn back to them. We put everything on the altar: mother, father, brother, sister, child, cousin, job, spouse, safety, romance, friendship, church, ministry, home, comfort--everything. If any go to follow Jesus, but they don't hate their father and mother, and they don't hate their spouse and children, and they don't hate their brothers and sisters, and they don't hate providing for their children, and they don't hate taking the kids to soccer practice, and they don't hate Sunday-morning services and Wednesday-night suppers, and, yea, they don't hate their own lives, then they can neither be a disciple of Christ, nor a child of God (cf. Luke 14:26).

Sometimes we only need a willingness. Other times the knife must down (cf. Genesis 22)

I recommend really thinking about this sort of sacrificial newness. Seriously. We all might benefit from sitting down to talk with just God, or perhaps God and a small, intimate community. Maybe in your Sunday school class. Maybe with your family. Maybe with your family and another family. Maybe over coffee with a close friend or two. I bet we could all use some deep, creative reflection that immediately actualizes itself in action. And as we reflect and act, God will make us new, so new that we will barely recognize our past self when we look back, die to self, and turn into a pillar of salt for the earth. Just think, in a few weeks, we'll have to start re-introducing ourselves to people in church, because we'll be unrecognizable and really, really salty.

Ah, but newness is painful, because it includes death. So friends, believe the bad news: in Jesus Christ, life won't be easy. But compared to staying the same, the new yoke of Christ is easy. The burden of death and rebirth is lighter than the burden of life in spite of death. It is better for the grave, water, and the spirit to be the womb for your new birth, because the other option is, well ... you know.

Weaving Tales of the Past with Stories of the Future

Sometimes we camp out in little towns after we are made new. Maybe we camp there because we can't handle the newness and we pretend to start afresh. Maybe we camp there because we want the comfort and protection of the womb. Maybe we camp there not because we aren't looking back, but because we never actually looked fully forward, like Lot. We take our newness, but hide it in old wineskins

And sometimes we look back. Maybe we look back longingly, like when I think about Maine. This sort of looking back is understandable, but it has never been beneficial for me.

And when we're near our best, maybe we look back because what we were somehow influences what we are and what we will become. At some point, we must look back to accept our past, learn from it, and share the story. We have holy roots in the past and we cannot sacrifice them, however painful they might be.

Benediction

Today, friends, Easter is behind us and we remember being crucified and resurrected with Christ. Let us now look forward to Pentecost, ready for tongues of fire to descend upon us. Ready to leave here filled with the Spirit and made new.

Again-and-again-and-again.