(In)visible Witness

This Wednesday, March 9, is Ash Wednesday, and by the end of the day many Christians will be wearing a smudge of ashes on the forehead – a visible witness to the call for repentance.

It’s always interested me to see ashes on the foreheads of people who’ve given no other sign of interest in the Christian faith. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? A quiet acknowledgement of the life of the church, a reminder of the beginning of Lent, an expression of sorrow for the ways we’ve fallen short of God’s best.

I know there are non-liturgical Christians who find the ashes offensive. Acts of repentence are to be done in secret, right? In Matthew 6, the gospel reading for Ash Wednesday, Jesus says “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”

He goes on to give specifics: “when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

And “when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

And “when you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”

So, ashes are a bad thing?

Is faith meant to be private? Is it strictly an individual thing, between me and God?

In Matthew 5, Jesus says ““You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

If we live our faith in secret, how will our light shine before others? If we don’t let our right hand know what our left hand is doing, how will our good deeds bring God glory?

I think Jesus was talking about motivation. In the Jewish culture of his day, charity, prayer, and fasting were assumed. Everyone knew what was expected, everyone knew how to do it, but, as becomes clear as Jesus talks about the Pharisees in other places, these acts of obedience had become spectator sports, done to impress, rather than please God or encourage others.

The current problem is very different.

In The Fabric of Faithfulness: Weaving Together Belief and Behavior, Steven Garber wrestles with a question that has troubled me for years: how can young Christians grasp a coherent worldview, when they don’t hear one fully articulated? But even more, how can they learn to live that worldview with integrity, when they see few visible examples?

In hours of conversation with Christians who have come through the early years of career and family with faith and focus intact, Garber discovered, among other things, that “what I believe is deeply affected by my social experience: my family, community, city, society, and century.”

On one level that seems obvious, but consider a culture where

We believe that each man must find the truth

That is right for him.

Reality will adapt accordingly.

The universe will readjust. History will alter.

We believe there is no absolute truth

Excepting the truth that there is no absolute truth.

We believe in the rejection of creeds. (Steve Turner, Creed)

Garber discusses the work of Peter Berger, a sociologist who has spent forty years studying “the relationship between belief and behavior in the light of modernity’s power to shape how we see and live in the world.” According to Berger:

“Meaning systems …must be lived collectively; constant interaction with other people who perceive and interpret reality in the same way as oneself is necessary if one’s “nomos” [socially constructed ordering of experience] is to be automatically effective in embuing one’s everyday experience with meaning. But modern societies have largely dissolved these supportive systems. … So in the end the individual is in a certain sense alone with the task of making sense of the world and his own place in it out of scraps and oddments culled here and there in his differentiated life and contacts.”

How do we understand what’s real, what works, what’s of value, what’s worth pursuing, when called on to construct that reality on our own?

There are plenty of philosophies available, products to buy, anthems to sing. Have it your way. Do what feels right. Be fastest, smartest, prettiest, best. Run over anyone who gets in your way.

Who advocates for the life of faith? If the only time we talk about God, his word, prayer, giving, fasting, discipleship, compassion, is Sunday morning or evening, if the only place that conversation about faith and practice takes place is in church,  no wonder kids think it’s irrelevant.

Deuteronomy 11 says “Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates . . . .”

That passage may be familiar. What may be less familiar is the rationale just before it:

“Remember today that your children were not the ones who saw and experienced the discipline of the Lord your God: his majesty, his mighty hand, his outstretched arm;  the signs he performed and the things he did in the heart of Egypt, both to Pharaoh king of Egypt and to his whole country; what he did to the Egyptian army, to its horses and chariots, how he overwhelmed them with the waters of the Red Sea as they were pursuing you, and how the Lord brought lasting ruin on them. It was not your children who saw what he did for you in the wilderness until you arrived at this place . . .. But it was your own eyes that saw all these great things the Lord has done.”

Moses was warning his people: what to you is real, clear, even obvious, in a different place and time will seem implausible, even ridiculous, if you don’t continue to share the stories of God’s work in the world. Daily, hourly, at home, on the road. God has demonstrated his power – now it’s up to you to keep that reality visible for those who haven’t seen it.

 We are surrounded by stories, voices, demonstrations of ways to live. More than any other culture, ever, we are inundated with ideas about what does and doesn’t work, what is and isn’t of value. The messages are non-stop, inescapable, wired into our children’s brains, popping up on our screens, pressing in from every side.

Who shares the message of faith? Who demonstrates what the life of faith looks like? Who makes the life Christ modeled visible, plausible, compelling?

If we have seen God at work, we need to tell about it, for those who haven’t seen it, don’t believe it, can’t quite imagine it. If there’s joy in giving, we need to share that, for those who can’t picture it, for those who worry about how they’d make ends meet if they redivided the monthly budget. If there’s power in prayer, we need to celebrate, testify, tell the story, affirm that yes, God is faithful, powerful, real. We need to talk about the realities of the Christian faith at the dinner table, driving to and from school, in quiet conversations before bed, at family gatherings with the extended family listening, with colleagues, friends, neighbors.

We also need to show what it looks like. I know many kids and young adults who have never seen anyone read a Bible except sitting in a church pew, who have never heard adults talk about God’s word in the context of a family decision. It saddens me to think of the times I’ve asked “who do you pray with about this?” and heard the answer, from kids, young adults, parents: nobody.

I am deeply thankful for the people who have been brave enough, consistent enough, to demonstrate the Christian life to me in a way I could see and understand. Family, friends, colleagues, faithful people who have shown me, bit by bit, what obedience looks like. What sacrificial giving looks like. What a life of prayer looks like.  What real repentence looks like. In real lives. In the real world I live in.

John Stott, in commentaries and study guides on the Sermon on the Mount, quotes the Scottish theologian AB Bruce: “we are to 'show when tempted to hide' and 'hide when tempted to show.’”

Too often, we’re tempted to hide, and to keep hidden what we’re called to make visible. We’re happy to express ourselves, but uncomfortable expressing the salt and light we’re called to live. We forget this amazing reality: we’re called to be like Christ. To make Christ known. In the particulars, the details, the dailiness of life.

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —

Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.

                                                     Gerard Manley Hopkins

Please join the conversation. Your thoughts and experiences in this are welcome. Look for the "__ comments" link below to leave your comments. 

Advent Two

Today was the second Sunday of Advent, the Sunday we light the candle representing peace, and read the story of John the Baptist’s baptism of his cousin, Jesus.

It’s always seems an odd juxtaposition, but this Sunday the irony of it hit me harder than usual. John is proclaiming the coming of the Prince of Peace, and calling people to prepare. He announces that the Kingdom of God is at hand, and surely expects to participate fully in that kingdom as it becomes apparent on the earth.

But anyone who knows the little bits about John we’re given in scripture would know that before long John will be in prison, wondering why the kingdom hasn’t appeared in the way he expected. And not long after that, he’ll be dead, beheaded by a petty dictator trying to impress a teenage girl.

Like John the Baptist, we live in a between time – the kingdom is at hand; the kingdom is coming. We live with disappointment, and doubt, and the more obedient we’ve tried to be, the more deeply we feel the pain of trusting in a promise that hasn’t yet appeared.

The story of John’s doubt appears in Matthew 11: “When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?’”

That’s not the real question. John knew without question the answer to that one: Jesus was the Messiah, prophesied by angels, confirmed by miracles in his own life and his cousin's, affirmed yet again by a voice from heaven. The real question was one John was afraid to ask: If you’re the Messiah, and if I’ve been faithful, why am I here, in prison? Why have you forgotten me? Why did this obedience gig end up so very badly?

John proclaimed Jesus’ coming by quoting Isaiah; Jesus responded to John’s question by quoting Isaiah as well. “Jesus replied, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. “ It’s an obvious reference, and expansion, of Isaiah 61, the text Jesus read in the synagogue when he began his years of ministry.

None of that was new to John. But “as John’s disciples were leaving, Jesus began to speak to the crowd about John.” After asking “What did you go out into the wilderness to see?” Jesus affirmed that John was a prophet, “and more than a prophet. Truly I tell you, among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist . . . .”

Part of the question that rises up in us, when we’ve tried to serve, to be obedient, to live in the way we believe God has called us, is this: Did I hear it right? Was I a fool to believe it? Did God really have a plan for me, or was I just supposed to put life on cruise-control, take it easy, not take my faith so seriously?

Somehow, we’ve been lead to think that if God really called us, it would go easily. If we’re following God’s plan, things should be smooth. Doesn’t God bless us if we obey? Isn’t that what confirmation looks like? Can't we expect visible success? Problems solved?

When things don’t go well, when things appear to fall apart, when troubles threaten and friends turn away, our immediate thought is “I must have misunderstood.”

But Jesus was clear: John, you’re right on track. A prophet, and more than a prophet. Don’t second guess it because you’re in prison. Don’t let your followers, or friends, or the people around you, discount you because it looks like it’s coming to a painful end.

There’s another part of John’s question, though: Have you forgotten me? Was I faithful for nothing?

Jesus’ answer has baffled commentators, puzzled preachers, and prompted one of the most compelling, troubling works of American fiction, Flannery O’Connor’s The Violent Bear it Away:

“From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence, and violent people have been raiding it.”

Jesus said plenty of puzzling things, and translation often poses an additional problem in understanding what was meant. Did Jesus mean that the kingdom of heaven is subject to violent attack? That’s one way to read it, but there are others (quick summaries of quite a few).

My own impression is that Jesus was still building on the theme he started in the teaching of the previous chapter, Matthew 10: "Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword…. Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.  Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it."

John the Baptist’s crossroad is one that any Christian struggling to serve, grow, and live faithfully will face. The choices are obvious. Some decide the whole thing was a sham from the start. If it can go this badly, obviously, there was nothing to it. Better to sleep in on Sunday mornings and set the whole endeavor aside. Others decide that autopilot might be a good alternative. Sure, God is real, but it’s not worth the hassle to try to figure out what He’s up to. Show up Sunday morning, agree to whatever “propositional truth” will cause least pain, and go about your daily business. Most pews are full of quietly discouraged disciples, who thought it should be easy, and settled for less when the going got hard.

Then there’s the path of that cloud of witnesses of Hebrews 11, that path of courageous faith, sacrifice and struggle that can lead to great victory, amazing miracles, martyrdom, apparent defeat. Whenever my own path seems less than successful, or more difficult than I had hoped, I remind myself of that amazing litany:

I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated—  the world was not worthy of them.

Flannery O’Connor, discussing The Violent Bear it Away, wrote to a friend: “What people don’t realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross.”

As the days grow short and the weather cold, a big electric blanket would be nice. But even in this advent season, when we’re tempted by calls to every convenience and teased with visions of ease and plenty, Jesus calls us to be on guard, to stand firm, and to look to him as the example of what this life of faith will be. As he said again, not long before his own death: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”