In the 1960’s there was a movement or cultural conversation or idea that “God is Dead.”  The idea was that God was no longer necessary, that humanity was no longer mesmerized and hypnotized by the magic the Church had been using as an incantation to keep people in line and giving money.  That’s perhaps hyperbole, but it’s fairly accurate of what was going on.  It was the modernist movement sharpened to a fine point.  Superstitious belief was just not convincing when we could split atoms and pretty much destroy all life on earth ourselves.  Oddly, you’d think that having that capacity might make you want to make God even more real, but that’s not what happened. 

Though the theist/deist/God/Yahweh/Jesus/Allah vs. atheism debate continues, but to a degree, for many people, the notion that God is Dead seems to have passed on into some sort of cultural dumpster.  The idea of God still has a place in many people’s thinking, but for a lot of folk, that’s as far as it goes.  The idea that God is real is more of a hedge-the-bet sort of belief, just in order to not offend The Big Guy in the Sky.  For others the idea of God being there is a comfort, though how God is there and just how everything fits together is a mystery and not something they feel is necessary to try to understand. 

And then you have the Church-folk, who are probably a continuum from hot-on-fire-have-it-all-laid-out types to those who are the just-barely-sticking-their-toes-in-the-front-door-of-organized-religion types.  For so many of the Church, as well as outside of the Church, I wonder if the idea that God was dead was really more of a certain-theological-emphases-are-no-longer-relevant issue.  In particular, I’m wondering if the notion of salvation as it has been understood and popularized is something that has lost its appeal for the vast numbers of people—the idea that Jesus has made a way into a heavenly afterlife for those who will accept him as Lord, as the Son of God, as Savior?  I wonder if the notion of a heavenly afterlife is all that important to people who see so much that needs attention on this side of the six-foot hole in the ground? 

For whatever reason, it seems the sales line isn’t working anymore and the advertising team needs to work on a better marketing model.  I say that tongue-in-cheek, but my point is, perhaps the idea of salvation has been too narrowly defined as only an after-life concept and benefit. 

The idea of after-life as the primary focus of the message of scripture is relatively minor.  That’s not to say it has no place, but that there’s much more to salvation than what most people—in the Church or not—know about or consider.  If the Church is solely focused on salvation as an afterlife benefit, then we’re missing a huge part of the party.

Throughout scripture the idea of salvation is a holistic concept that is about our daily, corporeal life—the flesh and blood, the caught-in-time-and-space-and-all-that-implies life, the socially-and-politically-and-vocationally-and-relationally-and-everything-else-relevant life. 

Embracing salvation as entirely an afterlife concept is like buying a car because it has great resale value and then never driving it.  Salvation isn’t a life insurance policy that is only needed when the event of death takes place, it’s more of a citizenship and identity that is always a part of who you are and how you live. 

The wholeness and peace concept are the best way to understand the relevance of salvation in daily life.  To experience and lean into life with gratitude and a sense of adventure rather than feeling like you’ve been forced to ride a rollercoaster you didn’t want to ride. 

I think that Jesus is much more interested in making the life God created and established for us to live to be real.  Imagine going snowboarding and Jesus is excited to get on the slopes and at the bottom of a run grinning from ear to ear and saying “Whoa! That was incredible!” or going with you to work and as you’re approaching the guy who’s always so cynical and critical of others you say “oh no” and then Jesus puts his arm around you and quietly says “he was mistreated by his father when he was a kid and he has a huge hole in his heart; he really needs a friend” and you realize that you’ve processed some of your own family-of-origin stuff and your heart really goes out to the guy—even if he is a jerk; or Jesus going with you to the inner city to work in a community garden and getting pumped when a kid from the neighborhood gets a glimmer of something beyond the harsh, dead-end life that he’s experienced—all because you’re there, armed with your wholeness/peace/salvation and able to be friendly and generous and genuinely interested in the kid instead of dismissing him or adding his scalp to your come-to-Jesus speech; or Jesus watching a romantic sit-com with you and at the end you look over and he has watery eyes.   

It seems that if that’s the reality of salvation, then death is nothing more than a change of address—as has been popularized as a way of describing someone of faith who has died.  Death is just moving to the stands and cheering on the team on the field, as the author of Hebrews put it with the words “since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses...”

Frankly, if the wholeness, peace, life-makes-more-sense definition of salvation is more appealing to me, I figure it’s going to connect with others who have the idea that Christians are a lot of judgmental off-worlders.  And if it does, great!  If it doesn’t, then it certainly is making my days better than they were when I was the center of attention and instead of wholeness, my life was fragmented. 

I’m not canceling my subscription to the afterlife, in truth, when I have moments of incredible bliss here and now—giddy-to-the-tips-of-my-toes-scalp-tingling bliss—then I can’t even begin to imagine what’s in store for us.  And that makes me all the more thankful and ambitious about leaning into my salvation however I can in the here and now. 

There’s more to say about the nature of salvation, but I’ll save that for another post.

© Stephen Carl

Sabbath. 

I’m writing and posting this on Monday.  Yes, I know Monday isn’t the traditional Sabbath of Judaism or the Sabbath that most Christians identify.

But for some reason the idea of Sabbath came to me this morning.  Actually, the reason is that I don’t feel like posting anything and I was trying to justify it by declaring it a Sabbath—a day of rest. 

So, now that I’m inspired, I will desecrate my Sabbath and write a few thoughts down. 

I’ve already defined Sabbath by saying it’s a day of rest, which is one of the aspects of Sabbath.  But why?  The root of this aspect of Sabbath has to do with our work and how it can become god-like for us.  This notion of Sabbath arose from the experience of slavery endured by generations of Hebrews in Egypt.  Once they were free they were given the Ten Commandments, the traditional 4^th of which is keeping the Sabbath day holy—set apart.  It even explains that in the command—six days you shall work, but on the seventh you shall rest, just as God rested on the seventh day of creation.  Parenthetically, this also points to the purpose of work—it should be creative. Unfortunately, for many it isn’t, but that’s a different subject. 

Sabbath gives us time to breath, to set our eyes on things other than production or survival.  Sabbath gives us time to reconnect with God and others in a way that is holy—set apart.  Sabbath is sacred; and too little for most of us is sacred any more.  In truth, is there anything we consider sacred?  We may consider certain things set apart, but that is different than sacred.  Sacred is a space we reserve for things that offer a bridge for us, from daily life to some other place of spiritual refuge.  Some traditions have sacraments or sacred activities with sacred objects that are symbols of the bridge between our lives with all the suffering, hardship, fear, hopes, disappointments, and struggles to the divine and blessed and redemptive and liberating. 

I remember a meeting I was attending years ago during which one of the leaders handed out newsprint and paints and asked the participants to draw a circle and in that circle put something that represents one’s heart.  She described this endeavor in a variety of ways, trying to convey what it was she was intending, when finally this burly rancher dude from North Dakota said in a strong cowboy type-of-voice “You mean a sacrament, you want us to draw a sacrament?”  She grinned widely and said “yes.”

Books are written on the concept of Sabbath and it’s purpose as well as it’s benefits.  I won’t go into any of that here, but the subject is well-worth exploration—for those who don’t understand it as well as those who think they do. 

I would, however, like to offer some questions for you to ask.  Do you practice Sabbath intentionally?  This is more than going to church or not going to work.  Practicing implies conscious effort and engagement which is best done ritually, like lighting a candle the night before, saying a prayer to begin, singing a song or something of the sort—how do you draw a line between ordinary time and sacred time and cross it?  Once across that line, what does the Sabbath involve?  Remember that it’s sacred and it’s a substantially different pattern or character from the rest of your time.  Mowing the lawn or fixing the leaky faucet or heading to the lake or doing something else to fill their weekend may be how many people spend their leisure hours, but this isn’t the same thing as Sabbath.  In most periods of history there were holidays (holy-days) and there were Sabbaths.  There were no weekends or days off or vacations as we are accustomed to.  Sabbaths were the regular and weekly break from the routine of work, but they weren’t for shifting from one type of work to another.  They were for genuine, deep, substantive rest.  That’s perhaps why there are so many ritual laws that arose regarding what constitutes work—I know that for Orthodox Jews making a phone call (specifically pushing the buttons) has been determined as work—as well as a host of other things that require unusual effort to skirt around on the Sabbath.  I don’t think the purpose of the Sabbath or of Sabbath laws is to make us work harder in order to avoid work, but the idea is to set fences and boundaries that are reminders of the significance of the sacred nature of Sabbath and the liberation from toil that we are given. 

When was the last time you (or have you ever) practiced Sabbath?  How might you do so?

Lastly, as I’ve already mentioned, observing the Sabbath shouldn’t be a chore—that’s exactly what it isn’t about.  Remember that Jesus made this point when he was accused of breaking the Sabbath laws, he said "The Sabbath was made for humanity, not humanity for the Sabbath."  Sabbath is about standing in the grand and broad landscape of freedom and grace and meeting God again and breathing in the rich, wonderful aroma of love.  This is what fortifies us to face what we return to when the Sabbath ends.  The fringe benefit of this is that if we linger there long enough with God, the aroma of grace and love and liberty will follow us into our week where it will make a much needed difference.  Indeed, the most needed difference. 

© Stephen Carl

I have a large library for one person.  Perhaps that’s what happens to pastors after a few decades.  A couple of years ago I gleaned my library and probably reduced it by a quarter of the books I had and I still had full shelves.  I’m not sure how that happened, but it did.  Okay, I’m a bibliophile.  There I said it.  I admitted it.  Now for recovery.  Problem is, I have some books in my “saved for later” category on Amazon. 

Of my books, I have a few full sets of the writings of certain authors that I find rich, insightful and relevant.  One of those authors is last century’s prolific neo-orthodox Swiss theologian, Karl Barth.  I have not read all of his work, but enough of it to realize he sometimes has sentences longer than most people’s paragraphs.  He was instrumental in the Church’s resistance to Nazism in Europe during WW 2 and was the primary author of the Barmen Declaration, the Confessing Church’s dialectic statement of faith with a resounding “Yes!” to God’s sovereign Lordship and an equally resounding “No” to human idolatry in it’s many forms.  But he’s probably most famous for his answer to the question he was asked toward the end of his life.  The question was something like “If you could summarize all of your work, what would the summary be?” And his response was “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”

That’s quiet the distillation of thousands of pages of theological reflection and insight, but he’s right.  I’d think that many Christian writers and theologians could say the same thing. 

So why all the words?  After reading Barth if I was to answer that question, I’d say that every word was necessary.  Which for someone who has read Barth, that’s hard to believe I’m saying.  There are times when I read his work and it takes me a few passes before I even begin to get what he’s saying, but when I do then it’s like I’ve been given night-vision goggles and I am seeing things that I had previously not seen.  And if I try to restate in fewer words what he said, then something is lost.  Hence, every word seems necessary. 

Here’s an example I ran across recently (a remarkably short sentence for Barth!): “The principle of necessary repetition and renewal, and not a law of stability, is the law of the spiritual growth and continuity of our life.”

(Karl Barth CD II/2, § 36, p 647)

It’s one of the easier things to figure out what he’s saying, which is basically that we each must continue to grow spiritually through learning the same lessons over and over again and reapplying them in new ways, that getting to a certain point spiritually and staying there does not produce the kind of spiritual life that we are offered. 

The problem with all those words is that they make it difficult for most of us to see his point.  And what he said is powerfully rich and engaging.  He was insightful in ways that I didn’t even realize someone could be insightful.  He illuminates the Christian life and the incredible love of God revealed in Jesus Christ in ways that are liberating and mind-blowing.  Yet there is an equally amazing simplicity to what he’s saying.  I don’t know exactly how, but there is.  Consequently, he could say what he said toward the end of his life about what it all meant: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

Which brings me to the other reason Barth wrote so much and used so many words to convey his insights and thoughts: Because the love that Barth knew in Jesus Christ couldn’t stop with one sentence or description.  Like those who are deeply in love, there’s a necessity to keep describing it, displaying it, expressing it.  Barth (and others, like Dietrich Bonhoeffer) were not willing to simply run the race of faith by grabbing the baton of tradition from the previous generation and delivering it to the next.  Instead he expressed it for his context.  His running with the baton was unique and yet conformed to the Gospel.

I’m writing this, not to convert anyone to a Barthian or to suggest you even look him up on Wikipedia.  Instead, I write it because I think it is necessary for each generation, even each person to restate the message of the Gospel from one’s own perspective and context.  It is from our unique context and our unique expression of the Gospel that God speaks to our generation’s own idolatry and calls us home.  And in doing so, like Barth, we should be able to distill it into “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so,” but only as we continue to repeat and renew, since that is the law of the spiritual growth and continuity of our life.

© Stephen Carl

The first four books of the New Testament are called by the name of the author of each: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  The full name of each of the first four books is actually: According to [author’s name].  The presumed title is therefore: The Gospel According to…

So what?  I didn't learn them that way as a child.  I never remember a Sunday School teacher emphasizing the full title of the Gospels.  I don't recall a sermon on the "according to" part of the Gospel titles.  Most Bibles I've seen only have the name of the author and not the "according to" part of the title.  So what?  Big deal.  

It wasn't until I took Greek in college that I really took notice of the "according to." It was there in my Greek New Testament at the top of every page "according to Mark" or "according to John."  Apparently the early Church, as the Gospels were written down, understood the significance of the "according to" in a way that we may not today.  I think the “according to” is very important since it lets us know that the account is a particular person’s view of the Gospel.  I’d broaden that and include the community of which each author was a part, but the point remains that the Gospel account has the fingerprints of a particular person or group of people all over it.  If you compare the Gospel accounts—as has been done a great deal—you’ll find that there are differences.  In fact, there are some differences that make one wonder “just what really did happen?”  The birth narratives of Jesus are each unique as are the resurrection narratives.  Some of the parables are told with different emphases in each of the Gospels.  Some stories are only contained in one of the Gospels and never mentioned anywhere else. 

These differences have caused some to question the authenticity of the message contained in the Gospels.  I think there’s good reason to wonder why they’re so different in some cases, but I don’t think the differences invalidate the truth contained in the Gospels.  In truth, there’s a richness to the Gospel that comes from the different presentations and views of what Jesus’ life and ministry means. 

Back to the “according to” of the Gospel titles.  I have several files on my computer that begin with the words “The Gospel According to…” and there are different names or titles that follow.  I once wrote a lengthy poem on the birth of Jesus that is similar to a Dr. Seuss poem.  It’s called “The Gospel According to Seuss.” I have a sermon series I preached on Acts 20 in which a young man named Eutychus fell out of a third story window after falling asleep there while Paul was preaching.  The series is called “The Gospel According to Eutychus” and it is focused on the church’s role in engaging and nurturing young people.  There are books published with names like "The Gospel According to Peanuts" and "The Gospel According to the Simpsons" and others that interpret the message contained in a comic strip or cartoon or movie or book through the Gospel lens.  

I have taught classes on Evangelism many times and one of the things I always emphasize is that for evangelism to be honest and effective then it must be authentic.  By that I mean it has to be the Gospel According to You—or whoever is sharing the message of the Gospel.  Too often, I think, the Gospel is packaged and standardized, like it’s a franchise: McGospel.  Certainly the message is the same, but the way each of us shares the message and it’s meaning is unique.  It must be our story of our encounter with the Grace of God in Jesus Christ. 

The best way for this to happen is for it to be personal and fitting the circumstances.  I don’t think seeing other people with an evangelism target painted on their chest is the way to be an evangelist.  I think, however, that whoever we meet, under whatever circumstances we meet them, we should be so steeped in the grace and Good News of Jesus Christ, that it is apparent even if we never say anything about it.  We must trust that the Holy Spirit will prepare the opportunity for the “Gospel According to Us” to be shared. 

In order to do so, however, we ought to know the story, the Gospel, ourselves.  Do you know what the Gospel is according to you?  Are you able to tell yourself who Jesus is to you and why?  Frankly, I think that’s the best part—knowing it ourselves in its richness and mystery and power.  And if we do, then watch out, because then there’s no keeping it silent.